Gift of Revenge
by catatbed
Summary: Captain Hook/Killian Jones finds his long awaited revenge in the form of a beautiful young princess named Anya. Can he look past her innocence and she his evil deeds to find true love? MATURE THEMES. OC x Captain Hook. Special thanks to Nicole Hayley for creating the beautiful cover to this story!
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so this is my first UOAT fic and I'm not really sure if it's good or not. The story basically follows the storyline of Anya (my OC) and Captain Hook, who for the first half of the story, is Killian Jones (his pre-Hook identity). There is probably going to be some pretty mature stuff in here so beware! Also, Milah does not, for the purposes of this fic, exist. She neve met Hook and they never fell in love. Just to tell you, I absolutely LOVE reviews!**

The sky was as red as the ground, a beautiful concoction of red and pink swirling in the infinite expanse, so beautiful you nearly forgot where you were standing. It seemed God had created this very hue of red to entrance, so that everyone would look up instead of down, smile instead of scream, dream instead of realize. Realize that the shouts of the people around them were in agony and fear, and not stupor and joy. Realize that the pool of liquid at their feet was not the cold ocean, but the blood of innocents who would've given anything to live. Unfortunately, it appeared that this time, even God's legendary powers were not enough to distract them from the carnage surrounding them, and they looked down. Some screamed, some feinted, some ran, all prayed.

Buildings were ablaze, and you could see in the eyes of any man, woman or child a reflection of the flames licking at city they had worked so hard to create. Worlds came crumbling down with every building that collapsed and a scream could be heard almost every second, as another loving wife found her husband dead, still clutching his ax. The screams, however, were not the most abhorrent, torturous sound to be heard. Nor was it the sickening crunch of bones as another neck was broken, nor was it the cries of a child who's mother had been taken from them right before their eyes. No, the most dreadful, appalling, hideous sound to be heard was the harsh sound of _laughter_. It seemed to permeate throughout the shattered city, touching the ears of every citizen, the sound of pure and unadulterated mirth as unimaginable atrocities were committed, and it was sickening. Not only did that sound mean that someone's life had likely just been taken, and that someone had enjoyed doing it, but it also meant the same fate would likely soon befall you. So anyone who heard a laugh fled, no matter to where, no matter how, no matter who they left, they fled.

That is, anyone but Anya, who stood among the gore, desperately seeking out the man, or men, with that very laughter. Her eyes were open wide, frantic with hurry and stress. She must find them before they could hurt anyone else, before another life was destroyed or taken, before...she heard a horrified scream and a jaunty cackle. She followed it, sprinting as fast as her feet would allow, not minding that the bottom of her dress was torn and stained with blood. Her only task was to find the man with that laugh and end this all. Her duty was to...

She knew at once who had laughed the second she set eyes on him: he was tall, he was broad, he was bald, he had a small plastered wide across his face and at his feet was the body of a boy, hardly nineteen. "You want to be next, my pretty? Come closer, dearie. See, the sword has to go _in_ you, not near you." His voice had a thick foreign accent to it, and he spoke slowly , which made him sound simple and lackwhitted.

The great tall man approached, twisting the sword in his hand, eyes twinkling with the anticipation of another kill. Taking an unconscious step backwards, Anya said falteringly, "I am Anya Durand, daughter of King Leopold Durand, the third of his name. I've come to negotiate with your captain." The man laughed. "I'm sorry, miss, but the captain is currently unavailable. You'll have to come again later." Anya's breath hitched in her throat. _Why didn't he want to speak with her? She knew the reason they had come, this was it. _"I know why you've come, I know what you want. I can rectify it. Just give me a chance and to _take me to your captain_." she said, saying the last few words slowly as if to intimidate the great beast of a man. He only chuckled again. "If you knew truly why we had come, you would know that it can't be rectified-it can only be avenged." The man had been slowly ebbing towards her, and he now stood only two feet from her; he could easily thrust the sword into her stomach. She needed to think of something, and quickly. "Please, I'm the king's daughter, I can get whatever you want, just take me to your captain to _negotiate_." Fantastic, she'd just repeated the same thing she's said earlier. The man chuckled again, and took one final step towards her. He rested his hand on her shoulder and brought the sword back. "There'll be no negotiatin', sweetling. Nighty-night" Anya closed her eyes and made her whole body tense, not daring to imagine the world of pain she would experience just moments into the future.

But instead of a swift, sharp pain in her stomach or neck, she heard another man's voice, loud and commanding. "Stop!" She dared to open her eyes, dared to hope that the man would have distracted the brute long enough for her to escape his unsurprisingly strong grasp.

"Tag, what _are_ you doing?" The man's voice was dangerously low, speaking the words slowly and intimidatingly. The man, Tag, released Anya's arms and took an unsure step backwards. "I-nothin', cap'n, just...followin' orders." Anya was shocked to see the man stuttering; he must have been 7 feet tall! She did not want to imagine what the man who could inspire such fear in him would look like. Instead, she wanted to see for herself. She turned slowly, as though is she moved to quickly Tag would strike. What she found was different than she expected. The man before her was not short by any means, perhaps just under six feet, but nothing like the man who had attacked her. His eyes were a fierce blue, just as hers were, though perhaps a little less stunning. His hair was unkempt and pitch black, and he wore a cocky smile on his face, as though he knew a joke no one else knew. No, she didn't truly understand why Tag was so afraid of this man, but if she had any good sense about her, she ought to be just as terrified.

"What's your name?" he asked, giving her a demeaning grin as he stared down at her. Anya houghed. True, the man was considerably taller than her, but then again, so was every man. And most women, for that matter, but she was most certainly not a _girl_. The man looked to be the same age as her, and if not, younger. She kept those thoughts confined to her mind, however, and replied, "Anya Durand, daughter of King Leopold Durand, the third of his name." She bit back a _boy _and instead gave the man a stiff curtsy. If she was to get what she wanted, she would have to play nice.

The man gave a knowing laugh, as though he had heard the silent _boy_ quip at the end of her sentence. "And just how do I know, Anya, that you are the true daughter of the King, and not some helpless peasant lying to save her pitiful life?" the man asked. Truth be told, he already knew that she was his daughter. No one else could have blue eyes like hers, piercing and deep, but he wanted to see what she'd say anyways. "Because I will take you to him right now, so that you may negotiate for what you want." she replied, attempting to conceal the look of desperation that was so evident on her face. "And what is it your king wants?" the mysterious captain whispered, his face just inches from Anya's face. She narrowed her eyes, disgusted that a man as vile as him would come even this near.

"I think you know."

"Humor me."

"He wants peace. He wants the murder and treachery to _stop_. He wants you to set sail and go far, far away"_  
_

"I think I can manage that. Don't you, Tag?" the captain turned to his crewmember, who gave an approving grunt.

"Then why don't you come with me to negotiate your _price_?" Anya whispered, voice dripping with venomous kindness. "Lead the way, princess." The captain's voice was as sickly-sweet as hers. Was he trying to mock her? No matter, Anya had to get him to the castle to stop the murder of her people. "Very well, _captain_. Would you allow me enough courtesy to give a name?"  
"In case you had not noticed, princess, pirates aren't too courteous." he replied redundantly. The woman scoffed "You don't say?"

The rest of the short journey was spent in silence while winding through piles of dead bodies, many of which Anya had known and loved back when they were people, only seven glorious hours ago. _A lot can change in seven hours, _Anya thought maliciously.

The castle was among the few places in the city untouched by the hands and swords of the filthy pirates, having no spot of blood touch the ornately gilded walls. Inside, it was the same story, though many a peasant was huddled in there, with whatever few belongings they had left. Servants scuddled desperately about, trying desperately to quench that man's thirst, feed that woman's daughter, heal that man's gash. There were at least 3 times as many people laying on the ground in pain than were servants and nuns and nurses to help them. Briefly, Anya stopped to help with what she could, but knew she had to continue on to her father in order to stop any further damage from occurring in her beloved city, so she kept on.

It seemed a lifetime to reach her father's courtroom, where he and five of his most trusted commanders stood huddled over a map of the city, whispering conspiratorially. They did not notice the presence of the three new people in the room until Anya cleared her throat uncomfortably and gave her father a pointed look. "Father, I present to you the men who are responsible for the destruction of your city and all those who reside here." She stepped aside and gave a vague smile, knowing now that since she was in her father's company she could speak as frankly as she liked.

The shorter man, the captain who refused to give her his name, stepped forward almost proudly, though his prideful air was somewhat diminished by the dirty glance he shot Anya. He gave a curt nod and a curter bow; it was clear he refused to respect her father's authority. "King Leopold. So nice to see you again. Time certainly has done no favors for your looks, has it? How long has it been? Two, three years? Already in that time you look twenty years older than when we last encountered (and you didn't look particularly dashing then, either, if I can be so frank)." The king pursed his lips and replied in a guarded tone, "You may not be so frank, scum. I would suggest you leave this city immediately, or..." the king nodded to the commanders he had formerly been consulting with, who drew swords and daggers from their scabbards. The pirate just scoffed, and began pacing slowly back and forth, back and forth. "I wouldn't be doing that if I were you." he said tauntingly. "Oh? And why is that?" asked the king, playing along. "I have very powerful enemies in very powerful places. In fact, one of them is right here in this very town. I can't quite recall his name...Rubblestilmen? Rebelkilsin..." Anya's father whispered quietly, "Rumplestilktskin?" Killian turned to Leopold and said, "That's the one. Yes, he's the one that's been that's been torching your city, killing your people...Well, him and my crew, that is. And if I don't return to my ship within the hour, he has orders to...shall we say, _decimate_ this meager town and every unimportant person inside it? Yes, I think we shall." The captain laughed. Anya's father spat at Killian's boot, who replied, "Such hostility. I truly did expect you to mind your manners, King. But I suppose when everyone is below you, you really have no need for courtesies." He laughed again. Anya's father, who had clearly had enough of these insults, cut right to the chase. "What do you want, Killian? And don't be around the bush, hundreds of people die every minute you continue this buffoonery."

"So nice that we can be honest with each other, King. I'll tell you what I want. I want revenge. I want revenge for my sister. I want revenge for Anita. She didn't deserve to die. She never did _anything_. And yet, you sent her to the chopping block just like that, without even a backward glance. She deserves justice. I will _not_ let her life go unavenged."

King Leopold's face had gone from impatient to somber, his eyes shifting uncertainly. After a few moments of careful calculation, the king closed his eyes and sighed. "Very well, Killian. You shall have your revenge. If you promise to leave this city and never return, I submit. You can kill me however you like, I only ask that it be quick. I don't deserve this. You're responsible for your sister's death. But either way, I submit. I submit."

Anya let out a horrified gasp, and bolted for her father, as though she could protect him from the man named Killian's sword. The pirate however, grabbed her arm and yanked her back rather violently, causing her to slam into the council table. She let out a pained gasp as her father cried her name fearfully. Killian only shook his head and laughed, "The girl's fine, Leopold, and you'll be fine as well. See, sending you to a swift and painless death, that's not revenge. Revenge is doing _exactly_ what you did to _me_ to _you._ You didn't kill me. Obviously. No, you took the most important person in my life away, and you shall suffer that same fate. But who to choose, who to choose? Your only brother died when he was only an infant, and your wife disappeared a long, long time ago. It seems the only one you have left...is your...daughter?" Killian walked slowly over the the table and chairs he had thrown Anya against, pulling her forcefully up by the hair. She screamed painfully and her father lunged at Killian, who had only to step aside to avoid the King's pointless attack. "Now, now, Leopold. I don't think you'll be wanting to do that." Her father tried to rise, but was shoved back down by Killian's boot. "And why is that, vile soul?" Killian then took from his boot a dagger, so clean it reflected the sun's rays, and touched it gently to Anya's neck. A shiver ran down her spine. "Because one misstep, and the dagger," he pressed it a little bit harder into her soft skin, "slips from my hand."

The king raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. You've won. Let's not do anything too brash." his voice was shaking with the fear of a man who was standing on one leg at the edge of a cliff. "I can give you anything, Killian. Anything. Name it. Gold, power, _my kingdom_. Anything but her. Anything _but her_." Her father's voice finally betrayed him, and broke until his words had become sobs that shook his whole body. "I've already decided what I want. And that's HER, because SHE'S revenge." For good measure, the pirate wiped away a tear that had fallen unnoticed down her cheek, before walking slowly out of the chamber, dagger still pressed to her neck. Anya tried to shake free from his grasp, but knew if she moved too much that it might cost her her life. So she sucked in a pained breath, closed her eyes and spoke the four hardest words she'd ever had to say, "I'll be okay, father."

As the pirate captain shoved her onto his pirate ship, filled with men that had just spent hours ravaging her city and its citizens, Anya realized that she had been wrong earlier. True, a lot could change in seven hours but much _more_ could change in five minutes. She also realized that the socerer Rumpelstiltskin was nowhere to be seen. _A bluff. He was never much of a threat to the city after all, _she thought bitterly. The loss of everything she held dear was for naught.


	2. Chapter 2

Killian Jones gently pushed Anya onto the deck, allowing her to sulk off to the edge of the ship and stare at the sea while he exchanged some words with his 2nd in command, Smee. She saw out of the corner of her eye the crew of the ship give her envious glances, and she heard more than a few crude remarks about herself, but she didn't dare confront any of them for fear of what might happen. She wondered briefly if the captain of the ship would really kill her. If he was, why not do it in front of her father? That would certainly cause him the most pain and heartbreak, and that certainly seemed to be what Killian wanted. And if not then, why wouldn't he just have one of his men do it? Take her head off with one foul swoop. It wouldn't be difficult, she has witnessed many of these scurvy pirates take the lives of men barely grown just an hour before, it would be second nature to them. No, Anya doubted that the captain would be killing her. He obviously had a use for her. She just yearned to know what.

As if to answer her unspoken question, Killian took Anya firmly by the arm, though not quite as firmly as he had in her father's council chamber, and lead her quickly to his chamber. He was careful to lock the door behind him, and when he turned, the young princess was already inspecting everything with a curious fascination. Anya noted that the chamber was surprisingly spacious, especially for a ship. However, despite it's size, it was really rather dull. There was but a large bed, big enough to fit at least 3 people in, and a writing table tucked into the corner. Two glass double doors with curtain lead out onto a small private deck, where there was a yellow bucket sitting. She grimaced at the thought of what he might do with that. Other than those three things, there was nothing in the room. No ornaments, no maps, no chests of gold. Nothing but the bed, the desk, the bucket and the two young people who were now staring at each other intently, neither saying a word. Anya crossed her arms begrudgingly, giving the captain a pointed stare, trying as hard as she could not to let her fear and sadness seep through her mask of impatience. Luckily for her, it didn't. Or the captain didn't notice it. Either way, she seemed fearless.

The two stared at eachother for at least three minutes until Killian cracked a small smile and took a step towards her. It was not until then that he noticed how truly small she really was. She would have been lucky if the top of her head reached his shoulder, and he liked that. He liked being able to stare her down, and the fact that when they were close, she would have to look up at him to make eye contact. That would certainly land him and advantage if he ever needed to intimidate her. Or if the two were ever fighting. There were other aspects of her beyond her height, however, and he didn't miss the chance to notice them. Her eyes, as he had noticed earlier, were the purest of blue, two round orbs as infinite as the sea he loved to sail. Her hair was a beautiful auburn, and fell in delicate ringlets around her face. Her skin was the fairest he had ever seen, with a permanent stain of pink marking her full cheeks. He swore that she had the world's longest eyelashes and the reddest lips, but that might've just been because he was standing right up next to her. There was a sense of innocence and purity about her that he would just love to destroy. And as his mind traveled down her body, he pictured just how he would do that.

Her hips were broad, and how he would love to hold on to them, to squeeze them! In stark contrast, however, her waist was slim and hourglass like and her chest full, though she did a wonderful job of covering it up. Here was a girl who was truly clueless in the ways of love and life, and how he would just love to be the one to show her. Killian knew, however, that that particular part of his fantasy was untrue. The girl was nearly of age with him, almost 24. Princesses in her realm must marry before the age of seventeen, or else they were put to death. And judging by the fact that she was standing here, she had gotten married. And Killian was certain that no man could resist having her for seven years, especially if she was his wife and he had every right to take her. Therefore, she was most certainly _not_ a virgin. But there was still a wonderful vulnerability, an intoxicating chastity about her that he would love to manipulate. In fact, right now he could just...

Her obnoxious throat-clearing and eyebrow raises threw him from his fantasy and the captain suddenly found himself back in his cabin, right in front of a proper princess. He sincerely hoped that he hadn't been staring...that would give her an advantage over him, knowing that he wanted her, and that was unacceptable. No, he would have to show her exactly who the boss was. And he had a pretty good idea of how that would unfold...but for now, he kept it clean and simple.

"You are now my property. You are my slave. I can do what I want with or _to_ you and you will do nothing to stop it. I can be a fair and kind master as long as you obey my rules and respect me and my crew. Your daily tasks include washing the deck with the crew, preparing supper for us, caring to our hurt and sick and fulfilling any other needs I may have." He paused for a moment, just to make sure she was listening, before continuing. "We will be setting sail within the hour, so unless you plan to make a frenzied run right now, I would not suggest trying to escape the ship. If any harm befalls me or my crew at your hands, you, my dear, will understand the _true_ meaning of punishment." To accent that statement, he went over to his desk and pulled from a drawer a leather belt with a steel buckle. He snapped it with his wrist, sending it flying through the air, and they both heard a loud CRACK! as it broke the sound barrier. Anya winced at the sound. Killian smiled. _The seed of fear has been planted. All there's left to do is walk away_, he thought to himself smugly. "Understood?" Anya shook her head vigorously.

"In that case, I really should be helping the crew get ready to set sail, but have Smee show you to your quarters. I think you'll take a real liking to them." With one last cocky grin, the captain left his chambers, leaving a shaking Anya who was two seconds away from crying. _What have I done to deserve this? _she asked of God. There was no response.

It was long dark by the time the boat had set sail, off to the land of the unknown, and Anya had been scrubbing at the ship's deck with nothing but her tears and a sponge for well over an hour. The entire crew were sitting at the long table, enjoying slabs of salted meat, and as a rare treat, fresh apples, courtesy of Father Donoway's orchard. But they didn't care, only Anya did. Only Anya cared of the fallen pastor, who had been like a second father to her growing up, when her mother had disappeared. They didn't care that they had sent him to his death, to Heaven. No, they didn't even know who he was, what he had done. She doubted they even knew the real reason Killian Jones wanted her father to submit to him, but they killed him anyways. Along with half her city. And they took her. But they _didn't_ care!

She wiped away her tears for what must've been the hundredth time when she heard one of the crew members call out, "We don't need to see our reflections in the deck, dollface. Why don't you come over here and keep us company instead?" Anya bit back a nasty remark and kept scrubbing. When she didn't move from her place on the deck, the captain called out to her again, "You've been invited to eat with us, Anya. Won't you come? I know these men would be terribly disappointing if you don't. They've even saved you a seat right next to me." Anya looked tentatively over her shoulder, and she saw the captain gesturing to an empty chair that was indeed right beside him at the head of the table. She was certain that she couldn't eat a bite, but the look on Killian's face, the fake warmth sent an alarm through her as she remembered his earlier words of warning. _"You, my dear, will understand the true meaning of punishment." _She shivered just thinking about it, and climbed up off her hands and knees and walked stiffly to the only empty seat. There was an obnoxious jeer from all the men.

"Won't you have something to eat, child? You must be starving." Killian offered her an apple. Anya almost got ill right then and there, knowing that that apple had belonged to the beloved Father. She would never eat that. Thinking of nothing else to say, she whispered "I'm not your child. We're the same age." The captain raised an eyebrow, obviously surprised by her rather brash choice of words. "Why, yes we are, _Anya. _And for that, I am _very _grateful." Anya didn't entirely understand what that meant, but all the other men seemed to get it as they chuckled and jeered, so she was able to infer. She gave Killian an angry stare and diverted her eyes to her empty plate, her cheeks warming. The captain only laughed at her reaction. "So verginal, isn't she, boys? Well, I think I can fix that." Another jeer. _Won't they ever stop that?_ Anya thought, annoyed. She truly just wished to kick one of them as hard as she could in the shins to make them shut up. Preferably the captain, but she knew that choice would be unwise. _Very_ unwise. Instead, she settled with mumbling to herself, "I'd rather you didn't" in response to the captain's crude remark. She noticed that right after she said that, the captain gave her a sideways glance, while he was laughing at some joke a crew member had said and she wondered for one terrifying moment if he had heard. Luckily, he only turned turned to the rest of the crew and raised his glass. The others mirrored him.

"Men, today we have won a great victory. We have brought down what was once considered to be the greatest city on Earth, along with its disgraceful and tyrannical King, and got ourselves a pretty little prize to show for it." he smirked at Anya, who made a point to stare intently at her plate. _Tyrannical? _Her father was a good man, who cared for and about his subjects. He was the most selfless person she knew. How could the pirate say these things? "To us!" Killian shouted, followed by an enthusiastic "Huzzah!" from his group of scoundrels. They all drank deeply from their silver cups. _So they'll be ignorant _and_ drunk. How lovely, _Anya thought viciously. She was glad that her father had taught her to always exercise patience and control, otherwise she would be in for a completely different experience upon the hell-bound vessel. An experience full of pain, she was sure.

She had been so deep in her angry thoughts that she hadn't even noticed when Killian had sat back down and began filling her wine cup. He thrust the cup in her face, bluntly demanding her to drink. She stirred from herself and gave him a blank stare. He repeated himself, tipping the cup as if to show her that it was really wine in the cup, and not some sort of poison. She narrowed her eyes, taking the glass with a shaking hand, begging herself to control her fear. She glanced down at the liquid suspiciously, gave it a swirl, smelled it, and then turned her eyes back to the pirate's amused ones. "There'll be no point in killing you, dove. You're going to be an especially..." his eyes traveled down and up her bodice for a fleeting moment, wanting to make her feel uneasy, before continuing "...useful...tool aboard." She cleared her throat, unsure how to respond to that, and took a small sip of the beverage. She instantly recognized the distinctive taste. This was her father's prized wine, the bottle her mother had given him on his fourty first birthday, right before she disappeared. He had only ever let her have one sip of it, and he one as well, before keeping it locked in his armoir, where he kept all his precious things. How had Killian's men penetrated the castle without her father knowing it? How had they gotten into his room? His armoir? She looked at the man in front of her with a sense of fear and fascination. How had he managed that?

Killian had obviously noticed her gaping, as he said "It's not polite to stare, love. Even when one is as handsome as I." Anya scoffed. This man was many things, she decided, but 'handsome' wasn't one of them. His eyes were too gorgeou...er... exaggeratedly blue to be attractive, his demeanor too cocky to handle and that _smirk_, that was getting harder and harder to look at by the second. No, she couldn't bear to look at the man. True, his shoulders and chest might be broad and his hair a rugged mess that kept you intrigued , but those things were nothing, unimportant, when compared to the blackness of his soul and mind. Nothing. Besides, Anya could _not_ look at men, much less pirates. She had taken her vows, she had...she had dedicated her life to something much more important than men and material goods. But that had been taken from her. Everything she knew, everything she loved, everything she believed had been taken from her. _No, _she thought stubbornly_, I still have my beliefs. I know that I will always have hope. Nothing can change that, not even this man. No matter how hard he tries, he can not take my hope from me._

But he certainly tried very hard. After a devastatingly long dinner, where Anya refused to eat anything substantial, she was shown her quarters by Smee, the only man aboard the vessel who had shown her any respect or kindness. And while she was glad that she did not have to share quarters with the obnoxious and loud crew in the lower deck, she would as soon have slept on the upper deck in the poring rain than where Smee showed her to.

The tiny room smelled of alcohol and pigs, as though it hard been carrying live animals that were only fed rum for the past ten years. It allowed only enough space for a small bed, which was really just a small pile of hay with a torn blanket on top. It rose hardly four inches off the ground. Anya supposed that that was a good thing, though, as the ceiling seemed so low that even she felt crammed. In fact, the whole room was so minuscule it seemed as though the walls were closing in on her, suffocating her. Anya swore she might feint at any second, that...

The captain entered the room almost silently, having to lean down only slightly to fit through the door post. The ceiling really was quite high for the vessel; he didn't know why his servant was looking as though the whole room was closing in on her. In fact, it seemed that Anya might decide to jump off the ship right at that moment, based on the horrified way she was staring at the bed. Killian chuckled. They were always frightened at first, but they grew accustomed to the scanty lifestyle of a pirate. He _did _however silently note that the bed that was given to her was...unfortunate. On their next stop he figured he would invest in a straw mattress, at least. He couldn't have his servant complaining of back pain when she was working. But for now, she would have to deal. Besides, he felt that it was always best to inspire a bit of fear in them before pampering the servants. It made them more grateful..._especially_ on the nights where he crawled into bed with them, or they he. Killian smiled at the thought. He truly was looking forward to seeing how she...performed. He felt a slight _shift_ down there just thinking about it. Oh, yes. Killian could hardly wait, and he expected that _tonight_ would be the night.


	3. Chapter 3

**So here's the 3rd chapter. I'm very grateful for the reviews I've gotten. They're very kind and make me smile like a 2 year old every time I read one. So, thank you. Also, I want to mention that next chapter there will be smut, and the very end of this chapter kind of leads up to it. I would love to know what you guys think and what you guys would like to see in later chapters. I'm open to suggestions! :) Also, I read in one of the comments that King Leopold was Snow White's father. I want everyone to know that there is NO correlation WHATSOEVER. I did not know this and must have subconsciously slipped up, thinking that the name was something I came up with. Sorry for any confusion. I read too about some possible plot holes in the first chapter. I had considered them earlier, but decided that they weren't important enough for anyone to really care. Sorry that I was wrong. I went back and fixed them. Without further ado, the story...**

Anya hadn't noticed the captain enter her pitiful quarters until he cleared his throat her gently on the back. She turned to face him, but really ended up looking straight at his chest. _Why was I born short?_ she wondered. It felt demeaning when she had to look up at everyone she met. Especially him, with his stupid grin. That god-awful grin. "I take it you like your quarters?" he asked mockingly. Anya refused to give him the satisfaction and nodded stiffly. The pirate played along. Good, good. I know it's a step down from your room in your father's palace-" Anya made to interrupt him, to tell him that she hadn't lived in her father's castle, but decided against it, "-but I think it'll do. Don't you?" He cocked his head. Another stiff nod from Anya. He shook his head and chuckled at the ground, stepping past her with arms crossed behind his back. "You won't really be spending much time in here, anyways. You're to be up at dawn, fixing breakfast. Me and my men like as much meat as you can manage. It's all salted and stored in barrels, on the lower deck." Anya interrupted him, "Where the crew sleeps?" The pirate nodded, "Aye. After every meal, you'll clean the table and wash the deck. The crew will be performing their duties at that same time, so make sure not to get in there way." he paused a moment, as if to think, then continued. "If a crew member is ever to get sick, or hurt, you will heal them to the best of your ability. I saw when you were in your father's palace how you helped heal the wounded who took refuge there. I imagine you will treat my men with the same care and generosity as you did your people. Yes?" The captain turned back to her, eyebrows raised expectantly. Again, Anya nodded. It seemed that was all she could really do on the ship. "And most importantly, princess, you are to obey my _each_ and _every_ command. No matter what I say, what I do, how I do it, you are _never_ to disobey or question me. On this ship, _I_ am the captain and _you_ are the servant. As I said earlier, any disrespect, any back talking, any insubordinance and _you_" at this point he leaned in dangerously close to her ear and whispered, "will...sorely...regret it." Anya swallowed nervously and nodded her head to show that she understood. It seemed to be the only thing she could do while she was in the presence of this man, and he seemed to realize it. "You really are a quiet, _little_ thing, aren't you?" he said, stepping close to her so that she would have to look up at him and stressing the _little_. Anya locked her jaw and stared at him stubbornly. He laughed. "And fierce. I didn't think a princess could be so fierce, so brave." Anya amost wanted to laugh at that. Brave? She was certain that the second he left this room, she would begin bawling. She was certain that by this time tomorrow, she would be on her knees begging, begging for this man to set her free. She was certain that every man on this ship, with the exception of Mr. Smee terrorized her. Anya was many things, but 'brave' was not one of them. She wanted to tell the captain that, tell him that he was wrong, but she kept her mouth shut. Out of fear, probably. _  
_

"I don't believe that you've said three words to me on this entire voyage." The girl knew this was not true; she distinctly remember telling him off about calling her 'girl'. But other than that, she could not truly remember stringing together a whole sentence to him during her time on this ship. Normally, she loved to talk. Her father could never get her to stop talking, but here, it seemed that the pirates had stolen her liberty as well as her voice. "Don't you think that's a bit rude?" Killian asked in a chastising voice. Anya just tilted her head and said, "Mmmmm?" , feigning ignorance. The captain chuckled cockily and began pacing about the room. "You and I, we're going to be spending quite a lot of time together. Don't you think it's only natural that you should comfortable speaking in my presence?" Anya scoffed disgustedly, and rather unwisely said, "I _can, _I just choose not to." The captain gave her a smug look. "And why is that?" _Because I'm afraid that whatever I say will either anger you or make you cockier. And quite frankly, I don't know which I would detest more._ "My father always told me never to talk to strangers. He said they might do bad things to me." Killian took a step towards her. "Well, _Anya_, I'm not a stranger, you know me for who and what I am, _and_ you know that I'll do bad things to you, so really there's not point in not talking, is there?" At his words, Anya's eyes widened. _Bad things? What bad things are you going to do to me?_ She didn't dare ask the question though, for fear of what the answer might be. Instead, she sat on her 'bed', which was really rather comfortable if you could get over the irritating texture of the hay, and replied, "I guess there's not." Killian nodded knowingly and began pacing anew. Anya watched him with disinterestedness, wanting him to say what he had to say and leave so that she might fall asleep. She hoped beyond hope that if she fell asleep, the next time she woke up it would be in her bed at home. But Killian did not leave. Instead, he ceased his pacing and asked it seemed with genuine interest, "Have you ever left you city? Before this, I mean. Have you voyaged elsewhere?" Anya shook her head no. The captain chucked. "Again with the silence. Well, anyways, it doesn't matter much now, does it? We're sailing far, far away and we're never going back. That's what your father wanted, was it not?" The princess just stared hollowly up at him, not knowing what to say. Killian stared her down just as hard, and the two remained like that for quite some time, both understanding that this was an unspoken challenge and whoever looked away first, lost. Though it was foolish, Anya was determined to win. It would be a small, unimportant victory in a midst of tremendous losses, but it would be a victory no less.

Anya was nothing if not determined. The captain eventually dropped his gaze and stared at the floor, shrugging his shoulders as though their silent exchange had not happened. But Anya knew it did. Anya knew she had won the staring contest, even if the captain would never admit it, or think it of any importance. Anya knew, and that was what mattered. She allowed herself a slight smile, so small Killian didn't notice it, but enough to lift Anya's spirits. And for those glorious eight seconds, Anya felt something strange well up in her chest. Could it be...happiness? It had been an insignificant happening that had lasted barely a quarter of a minute, and yet Anya felt...changed. _Yes, _she decided, _that feeling in my chest is happiness. _Indeed it was, but the beautiful princess was blissfully unaware of the fact that that joy she felt would soon be replaced by something a thousand times worse-all because of the pirate lord's next few sentences.

"You should get some sleep while you can. I'll be coming back in here within the next few hours." Anya gave him a confused glance. He sighed. Did he have to explain everything _explicitly_ to her? "Think about that sentence long and hard, dove. See if you can figure it out." He sincerely hoped she would. With that, the captain left her to her crazed and fearful thoughts, but not before adding an intimidating, "Do remember. _I_ am the captain and you _shall _obey." and shutting the door to her room gently. Anya's eyes filled with tears. In fact, she was pretty sure that they had been moist long before he closed the door, but she didn't care. She had a pretty clear idea of what he had meant by that statement. She had a pretty clear idea of what was going to happen in the next few hours. And she had a pretty clear idea of how badly she _didn't_ want that. However, the _clearest_ idea, or rather, image, in her head was how bloody her back would be, of how loud she would scream, of how badly it would hurt if she didn't comply. So, shivering and withdrawn, she curled up into a ball on her bed and willed herself to go to sleep so that she may awaken in her own bed.

Captain Killian stood on the top deck, looking out to the blue and purple sea, relishing the touch of the cold fingers of rain and wind enveloping him. He hadn't been able to sleep, no matter how hard he'd tried, for thoughts of the young princess ran rampid in his mind. He swore he had seen a look of terror cross her face, a look of desperation and hopelessness as he left the room, as his words finally touched home. In the moment where she had understood what he meant, he had seen a broken and scared woman-er-girl. He would have expected disgust, distaste, stubbornness, _anything_ but fear. True, it was likely the only man she had been with was her husband, but she didn't have anything to _fear_ from Killian. He would not hurt her. He would try not to, anyways. He was often told that he did not realize his own strength, but surely she didn't think that he would purposefully cause her _pain_. Heck, the whole point of making love was to feel.. exhilarated, happy...anything but pained. He would know, it was one of his favorite activities. If it would cause her that much stress and turmoil, though, he sincerely did not want to do it. He could soothe his desires by himself, he didn't _need_ a woman; he just preferred one. But now that he had told her what he intended to do, and told her that she _must_ comply, he couldn't go back on it. Otherwise, she would not take him seriously. She would lose whatever respect, or rather, fear, she had for him for she would know that his threats were empty. Or she would think that, anyways. No, he must stay strong and follow through with his plan. Besides, it wasn't like it would be _bad. _He'd seen her body and he was now more than ready to see how she...performed. _Soon enough, Killian. Soon enough,_he thought to himself as he breathed in the salty air of the sea.

Anya didn't know what time it was when she awoke, she only knew that her room was infinitely colder than when she had fallen asleep and it was blacker than black outside. She hoped earnestly that the cold had woken her up, and that all she needed to do was pull the fallen blanket back on top of her to fall back asleep, but realized soon that that was not what had awaken her. There was an ominous creaking outside her door as the old, wooden planks groaned with the weight of a man stepping on them. Stepping closer and closer, the sound getting louder and louder until she saw the doorknob turn slowly and the door open. There in her doorway was none other thank Captain Killian Jones, whom she had expected, and who she feared. The sight of him was enough to bring tears back into her eyes. _This can't be happening. This should not be happening! I took my vows, I am pure, I am pure! _But her angry thoughts did not seem to deter the man who closed her door gently and was walking slowly towards her, peeling off his wet coat in the process. He was carrying a candle whose light flickered and danced across his face, making for an alluring illusion. Anya noticed unconsciously that it made his blue eyes look stunning. Her previous notion of him being unsightly was washed away. She could see here and now that he was beautiful in every aspect, and she had only been lying to herself before, convincing herself so that it would be easier to hate him. It was most certainly not a problem now that he was going to...ruin her. The thought sent a cascade of tears down her cheeks and numerous shivers up and down her spine. The man pretended not to notice. Instead, he walked right up to her and extended a hand that she took tentatively. He pulled her up so that they were standing chest-to-chest.

Anya stared in his eyes for a long while, and he hers, neither moving or speaking. It was much like what had happened earlier that night. _But this time,_ Anya thought sourly_, there won't be any victory for me. Only pain. So much pain..._ She had heard of some women speak in town of how the first time, it hurt badly, and that there was sometimes even an inkling of blood. Anya had never concerned herself with this, however, for she had known since birth what path she was to take. A path of purity and chastity, of truth and justice. How naive she had been to think that that was possible. How truly naive...

Anya had been too concerned with her thoughts to notice that Killian had unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, revealing muscular shoulder and a tanned chest. It was only until he lifted her chin up with his finger and delicately asked her, "Would you rather undo the buttons on your dress, or shall I?" that she realized what was going on. The question was posed so compassionately, so carefully that she couldn't even respond. _I'd rather my dress stay on, good sir, but you won't allow that, will you?_ Killian, seeing her innocent expression and red lips stuttering to make words, smiled kindly and turned her around. His fingers were adept, quick and sure, and he managed to get them all undone in a matter of two minutes, a feat not easily accomplished even amongst her maids. Anya was surprised when she didn't feel the dress being torn off, as she expected he would do, but when she felt a warm moistness on her neck. He was kissing her. And she liked it; it was...soothing. As were the strong hands that rubbed her shoulders ever so gently, and that turned her back around to face him and his bare chest.

Slowly, so as not to hurt her or cause her any discomfort, he took her arms from the lace sleeves of her dress and pulled the rest of the garment down over her hips until it fell uselessly at her heels. He was slightly disappointing to see that she had a sheer silk nightgown under it, but decided it was for the best. He wanted her to be comfortable for as long as she could be. Therefore, instead of trying to remove her silk dress, he began fumbling with his belt, throwing it beside his shirt on the floor. He heard a small sob come from the small girl, but figured he'd only worsen the situation if he tried to help. He only continued to strip himself, having only boots and pants to rid himself of. The boots came off fairly quickly, it was the pants that took slightly longer. He had adapted the 'tight leather' look, and while they might've looked cooler, they were much harder to get off. He did, however, still manage it, all the while eyeing Anya carefully to make sure she was okay. She had seemed to remain calm throughout the experience, it was only until his manhood was exposed that tears began to fall again. Killian pulled her close to him, wiping away the tears on her cheeks with his thumbs. She gave a weak smile, almost grateful, before he lifted up the final barrier between his body and hers: her silk nightgown.

Killian dared a glance at her chest before attacking her lips with his. At first she didn't respond, but after a moment, she complied and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding tightly, as though he was the only thing keeping her from falling to the floor. In all truthfulness, he was.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys! Thanks for all the incredible reviews, they're the high points of my day! I wanted to let you know that this chapter will be shorter than the rest because I'm going to be leaving for Seattle in an hour and I haven't packed yet, so very little time! Also, while I'm there, I'm going to be busy with school work and site seeing, so I might not update until Monday or Tuesday. I'll have to see, though. Anyways, I've been updating daily recently, and it's become sort of a hastle. I was wondering...would you guys prefer slightly shorter chapters that aren't written wonderfully every day, or longer chapters that have been well revised every two days? As always, review, review, review.**

Killian positioned himself carefully, making only the smallest movements so she wouldn't know. He was still kissing her, and she was still holding on to him as tightly as her small arms would allow, when he first entered her, making sure that it was slow and shallow. All the same, she let out a pained gasp, forcing Killian to close his eyes and curse himself silently in self-hatred, as she pulled herself tightly to his chest. He picked her up easily, guiding her legs so that they would wrap around his waist, and held her hips firmly with his hands. Killian let her adjust to the new feeling before penetrating all the way inside her. Her body shook vigorously and a gasp hitched in her throat. Killian had expected this, expected her to be in pain at first, but he hadn't expected what he felt next. A rip, a tear of some sort, and warm blood tricking down his shaft and leg. Understanding crashed into him like a violent wave. _She's a virgin._ Virgins almost always bled their first time, and it was quite painful for them. Killian had just assumed that she was in pain because she and her husband had only done it when necessary, as arranged couples rarely bore true love for each other, or because she was afraid he wold hurt her. Bitterly, he cursed himself over and over in his head. _Her husband hadn't deflowered her. She's a _virgin. _How is that even possible? No matter that, w__hat have I done? I'm a stupid, ignorant, blind, droveling idiot! I took her virginity! What have I _done_?_ The pirate was so shocked that he forgot what he was doing for a moment, realizing that he had been thrusting the whole time, going harder and harder and faster and faster as his thoughts increased in anger and intensity. It was not until he heard Anya whimper slightly that he became truly aware and slowed. He realized while he was holding her that she had buried her face in the crook of his neck, arms still wrapped around him. That might've been the most disgruntling revelation of all. She was hiding, crying on the shoulder of the very man who was causing her the pain, as though he would protect her from himself. And in that moment, Killian decided to be the good guy and do just that. Ever so softly, he stroked her long, silky hair, whispering soothing words, and pulled himself out of her. Ever so gently, he set back down on the ground and lifted her chin up so that she would look into his eyes. He didn't know what to say, really. _She's a virgin, she's a virgin, she's a virgin, _came to mind, but that wouldn't do. He supposed sincerity was the best path. "You're a virgin." It was not a question and Anya knew it. The princess nodded sullenly before realizing her mistake. "Not anymore", she corrected. And it was true. He had been inside her, he had felt her rip, and though neither came to a finish, he had still stolen her innocence. "Why? How? Didn't you and your husband ever-" he was cut off by Anya's angry reply, "I didn't _have_ a husband. I was never supposed to marry. I was never supposed to be...touched. I was devoted to _God_." Killian's eyes widened. That made everything all the worse. He had just ravaged the body of a _nun._ He had just taken a _nun's_ virginity. He had...The pirate could hardly think clearly, so many thoughts and worries were going through his head. He didn't know how to react. He didn't know what to do. How could that be forgiven? _Could_ it be forgiven? Did he _deserve_ forgiveness? What kind of a disgusting creature would do that? How could he not have seen it? She was so innocent, so pure. He hadn't heard any rumors of a great marriage, either, of two kingdoms joining as one. If Anya had gotten married, stories would've spread everywhere. How could he not have _seen_ it?

On top of that, Killian stumbled upon another disgruntling fact. If Anya had been the only legitimate daughter of King Leopold, she wouldn't have the right to become a nun. She would be _forced_ to marry and have children, to carry on the royal bloodline. Was she not being honest? Was this some sort of clever trickery the king had played on him; was she _not_ his daughter? No, Killian saw in her eyes truth only a nun could possess. The girl was king Leopold's daughter and she _had_ taken the vows, there was just something Killian didn't know. And Killian despised not knowing things. He considered, however, that Anya had probably despised being...corrupted...by him. For her sake, he would leave the questions until morning and let her sleep, so that maybe she could forget some small sliver of this awful night. Maybe if she fell asleep, she would wake up clueless, as though it had never happened. As though...Killian shook his head. No, it was helpless. The girl would remember this moment for the rest of her life. The sickening details would be engraved forever in her mind like stone. Killian knew the girl would probably never look at him again, would be disgusted every single time someone said the name Killian. She would resent him for the rest of her life, if she hadn't resented him already for kidnapping her and tearing her away from all the people she knew and loved. The captain dressed himself quickly and in complete silence, all the while acutely aware of Anya's beautiful blue eyes watching him, still filled with tears. When he was done, he drew himself up, tore a piece of cloth from his shirt and handed it to Anya. She gave him a confused look, asking a silent question. Killian responded bluntly, "For the blood", his eyes looking down at her legs where there were smears of dried blood, and some new droplets as well. She nodded carefully, watching his back intently as he stormed out. She rubbed gently at her leg with the cloth, but it was too dry to do any good. Anya let herself cry for a moment, as she had been holding it back after Killian stopped, and held the cloth under her chin. It was soaked in under a minute. The blood came off easily after that.

Killian slammed his door shut violently, throwing his boots across the room and peeling off his pants. The fact that he had just ravaged the body of a nun had not damaged his libido, unfortunately. He recounted in his mind the feeling of Anya's body pressed against his, her gorgeous curves fitting perfectly with his. Killian took his manhood in his hand and began pumping. It was fast and violent, the opposite of what it had been like with Anya, but right now it seemed to match his emotions. He kept going, pumping more and more vigorously with every second that passed. He imagined being inside Anya again, only this time she wanted it. She begged for it. She loved it. When finally a cascade of pleasure took him over,Killian's seed spilled everywhere, all the while screaming Anya's name in ecstasy. He was fairly certain no one had heard, however. He looked frustratingly at his hands that were covered in his sticky, white cum and went over to his bucket to wash them off in the icy salt water of the ocean. After tossing the contents overboard, he crawled in to bed and willed himself not to think about the events of the night. _Better to forget, _he told himself. _Maybe if I forget, God will too._

* * *

Anya awoke with a slight ache in between her legs. She was confused for a moment, unable to recount _why_ she might be feeling that, until her memories of last night came tumbling back to her in bitter clarity. Killian had undressed her, picked her up, held her...entered her. She had begun to feel like it was not all that bad, like it wouldn't be as wretched as she imagined, until Killian had shoved his...thing...in all the way. At that point, she felt a painful rip and saw in Killian's eyes that something had changed. Still, he had continued for a while, thrusting himself in and out of her continuously while Anya had only sobbed and hid her face in the crook of his neck. Truthfully, Anya didn't know why she had done that. He had been the bad man causing her pain, tearing her further and further away from the hand of God every time he plunged into her, but she had still looked to him for protection. She had felt safer when her head rested on his shoulder, she had felt protected. And then, the captain had stopped. Anya knew that he had not yet reached his climax, yet he had set her down on the ground, a look of understanding and horror crossing his face. He hadn't known she was a virgin. For one surreal moment, Anya felt sympathy for him, seeing him so vulnerable and...afraid almost...but then she realized just where she was and what had happened. She felt the pain in between her legs, she saw the blood that had gotten on him. To hell with pity! She wanted to hit him, but instead settled with informing him angrily that he had just deflowered a nun, not some fool princess. That had most certainly struck home. His eyes had widened and he shuffled out of her room as quickly as he could, leaving her only with a piece of his shirt to clean herself with. The man was an enigma. A terrifying enigma filled with dark creatures and thoughts, but an enigma no less. Anya, however, had never been one for puzzles. They were hard and took too much patience. She had contented herself with songs and stories. But that was neither here nor there.

Looking outside the small porthole of her room, Anya saw that it was well past dawn outside, and that she was late for her duties. Why had the captain not come in to get her? Why was he not beating her senseless right at this moment? Anya supposed that he was waiting for her with belt in hand out on the deck, ready to give her as much pain as she had experienced last night. _Maybe it would be better to stay in this room, _Anya considered briefly. However, she quickly dismissed the idea, for it would only make it worse when she did finally have to go out there and face the captain. No, the smart, and the brave, thing to do would be to walk out there with head held high and a courageous face. She would take whatever unfair consequences the captain seemed to think fit. Drawing herself up, Anya buttoned up her dress that still lay on the floor, a daunting task, and stared determinedly at her door. _Here goes nothing_, she thought. _  
_


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys! So, as I said earlier, I was in Seattle for the weekend and had no time to update. However, I've written you guys an extra, extra long chapter today to make up for it. Also, I asked last chapter if people would rather longer, well revised chapters every other day or shorter chapters every day, and the vote was unanimous. From now on, I'll be posting every other day. Anyways, I really hope you guys like this chapter!**

Anya squinted in the brightly shining sunlight as she stepped tentatively out of her quarters. Climbing the small set of stairs that led to the deck, her legs and hands were shaking with fear for what was to come. She imagined being tortured naked on the deck for hours on end, just because she had not woken up early enough. She imagined everyone laughing at her pain, and the captain grinning smugly every time she screamed. She imagined countless horrors, each crueler than the last. But what she saw on deck made her more nervous than if any of the stories she had concocted in her head had realized themselves.

The men on board were working hard and diligently, shouting orders at each other, scrubbing at the deck or keeping watch for other ships with telescopes. No one was paying Anya any mind and she couldn't find the captain anywhere. The helm of the ship was being handled by Smee, who was just barely tall enough to see over the top. He wore on his face a look of determined concentration and licked his lips nearly every other second. Anya found his conviction amusing and let out a little giggle before walking over to him. When the short pirate saw Anya, he gave her a brief nod and a friendly smile before turning his eyes back to the ocean, refusing to look away for more than five seconds. "Where's the captain, Smee? I thought he would be ang-out here. I thought he would be out here on deck." Anya asked. She had almost said that she thought he would be 'angry', but corrected herself before the word left her mouth. Thankfully, Smee was too concerned with his steering of the ship to notice. "Umm...down in his quarters most like. He...oh...spends most o' the time in his...umm...in his quarters looking at his...looking at his maps." he replied disinterestedly. Anya decided that he wouldn't be engaged in the conversation if she tried to continue it, so she left him with his thoughts and walked over to the edge of the ship dejectedly. The cold, salty air felt good in her face and she smiled despite herself. The smell reminded her of the time her father had brought her to the Arekan beach. He had had business with the queen, and had let Anya tag along on his little venture. How she had loved feeling the sun on her face and the sand between her toes! She could still remember what it felt like to wade in the refreshing waters, to hear her father's laugh as she feigned drowning. The thought wiped the smile from her face. Knowing that she would never again hear that laugh, never again see her father smile was too much. For what seemed the millionth time, tears welled in her eyes. And for what seemed the millionth time, she heard Killian's cocky laugh. "Over sleep a bit, dove? We all had a pool going as to whether you were dead or not. I guess I lost." Anya heard the rest of the crew chuckle lightly at the quip. "I-I'm sorry, Killian, I had stayed up-" The pirates eyebrows raised in surprise. "That's _captain_ to you, dove." Anya was taken aback. What had she been thinking? "Oh-oh yes, of course. Captain. I, um, I had very little rest last night, captain. I had stayed up late...reading." Anya didn't know if the captain wanted the rest of the crew to know what had happened the previous night. Another arrogant smile played at the captain's mouth. "Well, if _that's_ what you want to call it, dear." The crew laughed again. Evidently, Killian didn't care if the crew knew about his personal life. "Right. Well, I'm just not used to staying up that late, so I suppose I slept a little longer than I intended." Killian scoffed. A _little_? "Just don't let it happen again, princess. Besides, you needn't worry; there's still plenty of work for you." he knelt down and picked up a bucket that had been resting at his feet. It was filled with soapy water and a sponge. "For you. You'll be working along these lovely men-" he gestured to the dozen or so men that were scrubbing the deck on their hands and knees. She recognized among them Tag, the gigantic beast of a man she had encountered in her city. Each and every one of the pirates that worked beside him were equally as hideous and terrifying-if not moreso. "Have fun..." Killian whispered tauntingly in her ear, dropping the bucket of water into her hand. She hadn't expected it to be as heavy as it was, and Anya almost dropped it, spilling half of it on the bottom of her dress. Anya ground her teeth. Killian laughed disdainfully and walked away.

After twenty minutes of scrubbing vigorously at the stained wooden planks of the ship, Anya was drenched in sweat. Her dress was thick and long, and made for lavish parties and extravagant balls. It clung uncomfortably to her, chafing her arms and the sides of her torso. It added at least ten pounds to her weight. And on top of all that, it smelled wretched. After only two days, the nun princess would've done (practically) anything for a bath and a fresh dress. As if to add to her distress, the men that had been cleaning with her were making vulgar remarks, commenting on her heavy breathing and sopping wet dress. One of them, Anya had heard others call him Slit, had even gone so far as to slap her backside while she was bent on hands and knees cleaning. All the men had laughed at that, save for Smee, who was the only man who bore Anya any kindness, and a man named Sam, who seemed to be permanently somber. Instead, Sam had told Slit in a warning tone, "Captain Killian don't be taking a liking to those who play with his toys." His serious voice and the truth of his statement seemed to suck the merriment out of the crew. They all went back to their work. Anya was grateful for that, though she knew that Sam hadn't meant it as a kindness to her; he'd most likely only wanted the men to stop their laughing. She'd noticed that others' joy seemed to rub him in the wrong way.

It was not until Anya's hands were wrinkly and the deck shined brighter than the sun that she was finally stopped. The sun had just touched the horizon and the temperature was finally falling. The crew had informed her that she had done more than her share, and that she need only do one more thing before she could sit and relax. Anya nodded gratefully, glad to finally be off her knees. She had been crawling all along the deck the entire day and she was sore all over.

Slit and Tag informed her that the captain had said that the crew was to prepare dinner tonight, so that she could see exactly what they liked and how to make it. The only thing she needed to do was go down to the very bottom of the ship, into the stores, and fill up a dozen chalices with ale from one of the barrels. They handed her a silver tray, not doubt pillaged from her city, and the dozen chalices and told her to follow the stairs as far as she could go. She would reach a short ladder, climb down that and she'd be in the stores. Anya nodded and listened intently, and when they were finally done with their explanation, she obliged readily.

As Anya descended the stairs, she noticed that there was a rather large collection of maps hanging along the walls. She saw a map of her city, of Trailgor, of Jasylun, Mirail and Yorshrine. She saw maps of far away places she had never heard of, with names she could not pronounce. Really, many were quite beautiful, to be looked at and appreciated, as if they were rare and fine paintings. Anya remembered the ornate paintings and tapestries her father hung in his palace. Her favorite had always been of a woman, blond and tall, gently stroking a white unicorn. Both creatures were so beautiful and so innocent, as Anya hoped to be when she was all grown. Anya had stayed in the great hall it was hung in and stare at it for hours on end, fascinated by the meticulous detail of the piece, and silently promising herself that one day, she herself would encounter a unicorn and be pure enough not only to pet it, but _ride_ it. The fantasy seemed inconsequential now. Impossible, silly. That world, the world of purity and chastity, of unicorns and fairies, of palaces and knights, no longer existed for Anya. She lived in a world of rapists and pirates, of thievery and pain. Nothing in her world would ever be the same.

With a bitter sense of sorrow eating away at her stomach, Anya finally arrived at the base of the steps, finding herself slightly winded. Just as the crew members had told her, there was a narrow ladder just below her, leading into a pit of darkness. Luckily, she had thought to bring a candle. She had not thought, however, of what to do with the tray and chalices. There was no way that she would be able to balance them all while climbing down the ladder. No, the only way to do it was to take every chalice down individually, fill it up and bring it back up. It would take quite a while, but Anya had nothing else to do. So, picking up a chalice and fitting the candle inside of it, Anya climbed down the ladder, with a sliver of fear dancing inside her. She was all alone in the cold storage area, with nothing but a candle to illuminate the way. However, Anya forced herself to continue down, telling herself that she was being silly and there was obviously nothing down there.

It felt like ages before she reached the bottom, but truthfully it had only been about twenty seconds. She could still see a ray of light at the top of the ladder, where the stairs ended. Sucking in a nervous breath, she turned and felt her way around until she happened upon a large, wooden object. It had to be a cask. Anya faltered for a minute, struggling to find the spout, until finally she was able to turn the handle. Ale came pouring out. She sighed contentedly, pleased with her work, and filled up the chalice. _Only eleven more to go_, she thought to herself. Standing up, she swore she heard a slight creak behind her, as though someone else was down there with her. _Ridiculous. No on came down with me and there's no other way to get here. And NO ONE could possibly be living down here. _she assured herself. Something in her still still told her to be afraid, however. _Just a quick looksie, so that it doesn't bother me anymore, _she told herself. Walking slowly in the direction she had heard the noise, Anya's senses were on red alert. Everything around her was sharply clear, as though she had cat's eyes, and she swore she could _feel_ the air around her, sense where everything was even without seeing it. Maybe she was more scared than she allowed herself to think.

Anya heard another soft _creak_ come from the same place: two barrels away to the left. She stepped carefully, as though she didn't want to hurt the floor boards, and arrived at the barrel. Was it her eyes playing tricks on her, or was there a longer shadow cast by her candle than there should have been, as though something large were standing behind the barrel? _I'm just jumpy. That's all. It's just my nerves, _she promised herself. Still, she decided that it would not hurt to look behind the barrel. Being as short as she was, and having two barrels standing directly on top of each other certainly did not help her cause. Anya struggled to grab ahold of the top barrel so that she might pull herself up when she heard a low, rumbling growl come from directly behind her. She closed her eyes, fear's icy grip seizing her body, refusing to release her. She could not move a muscle, she could not breathe. She could only stand there in horror. It was not until the second growl and a steamy breath on the back of her neck that her fight-or-flight reflex truly kicked in. And it was screaming _flight._

Anya was running the fastest she had ever run, faster than _anyone_ had ever run, she thought. Every muscle in her body was working at top speed, and her heart was jumping out of her chest. She was climbing up the ladder at lightening speed, only then realizing that somewhere along the way she had dropped the chalice of wine. It didn't matter, only her life did. And at that moment, the demonic creature, whatever it was, was tearing at the hem of her dress, trying to drag her back down. Giving it a powerful kick in the face, or whatever body part that was, Anya was able to pull free. Once on the stairs, she was full-out sprinting, holding her dress above her ankles and praying in her head for God to help her out of this. She could hear the creature clambering up behind her, struggling to catch up with her. _If you deliver me from whatever evil this might be, lord, I swear...I swear I'll..." _Anya found herself in the doorway to the main deck, tears running freely down her cheeks, her entire body shaking. She was surprised to see the whole crew surrounding her, as if they had been _waiting_ for her, with smirks and smiles spread widely across their faces. Some were even laughing. "What-what? What's going on? What are y-" she stuttered confusedly. Behind her, she felt a great mass crash violently in to her, yelling obnoxiously. She screamed in terror, falling to the ground. A cascade of some icy liquid was pouring onto her, rushing down her face and into her eyes. The men were roaring with laughter, some falling to the ground, others holding on the table else they stumble as well. Meanwhile, Anya was convulsing on the deck with spasms of fear and cold and shock rocking her entire body.

"_What _is the meaning of this?!" A loud and commanding voice suddenly thundered from nowhere and everywhere on the vessel, bringing an abrupt end to the raucous. All the men straightened up, faces hollow and emotionless, standing in a straight line along the length of the ship. Only Anya made any noise, and those were unintelligible gasps and chokes as the ale that had been poured on her seeped into every crevice of her body. The girl was trembling something savage, unable to regain control of her tired muscles. Her heart was still beating at a hundred miles a minute, but her mind was clearing up and finally understanding dawned on her. The men had coordinated all of it. The demonic creature in the stores had been one of them. He'd come up behind her and poured the barrel of ale on her...and everyone had seen it.

"That was a _question_, men, and I didn't hear an answer! _What_ is the meaning of this?" the voice demanded again. Anya recognized it now to be Killian's, but not the gentle one he'd shared with her the night before. This was a new Killian. Not smug, not lighthearted but furious. In his voice she could hear a dangerous sense of rage, and she knew at that moment that it was not Killian in control, but his emotions. They were too hot to handle, too fiery. The question was, why? What had they done to make him this angry? It had only been a joke. A cruel, offensive joke, but a joke no less. Anya would have expected him to laugh at it. She couldn't have been farther from the truth.

At that moment, Killian stood before Tag, arms held stiffly behind his back, lips pursed as if in concentration. "Do _you_ have anything to share, Tag?" he asked seriously. Tag's eyes darted from place to place, looking anywhere that was not at the captain. In his slow, unintelligent drawl he stuttered, "I- captain, we- we was just having fun with the princess. We weren't gonna give her no hurt." Killian's eyes narrowed. "It doesn't look like she's having much fun, is she?" Both men looked at her, still sopping wet and shivering on the ground, though not as violently as she had been before. "Well, it was gonna be some fun for us, cap'n. It wasn't gonna be no fun for her. We was playing a joke, see..." he responded stupidly. "I _understand_ what you were doing, Tag." Killian sighed frustratedly. "I'll have you all know that I will _not_ support insubordinance upon my ship, nor will I support feuds between crew members. Your orders were to leave the girl _alone, _but instead you violated that and decided to have a 'bit of fun', is it? She is now a _crew member, _men. Yes, she is a woman, but that doesn't make her any less apart of this vessel, of this crew, than you. She'll do her fair share of work, around here." he declared. The crew seemed to relax a little at that. The captain was just going to give them a scolding and leave them be, nothing more. There'd be no welts on their backs tonight.

"If she's as much a part of the crew as us, then why doesn't she sleep with us in the lower decks?" a voice asked. It was bold and challenging, almost as if he wanted to provoke the captain. Killian, however, tried to remain calm. "Because, sailor, you lot would _rape_ her every night, and every morning, for that matter. There'd be nothing left of her by tomorrow." Killian's voice was soft and malicious; every man who heard it could tell he was on the edge. "And why is it that _you_ get to rape her every night and _we_ don't?" _That _particular statement was more than the captain would allow. He jerked forward the man who had spoken, Slit, and threw him to the deck. "I am your _captain_, sailor. You do _not_ speak to me like that." His voice had lost the (relative) control it had possessed just moments earlier. Slit glared rebelliously at him, staggering up and wiping at a smear of blood on his arm. "Well maybe it's time for a _new _captain." He ran forward towards Killian, who side stepped at the last moment and let him crash into the pirates behind him. "Tie him up, men. And get me my lash." he ordered smugly.

Anya watched in horror as five or six men tied Slit's body to the base of a wooden column, hands wrapped around it, as if hugging it. They had taken off his shirt so that his back was exposed, and she could see many half-healed welts there already. This was obviously a man who did not accept authority. _Why would he do that if he knew what was going to happen, that he'd be beaten? _she thought silently to herself, while watching with appalling infatuation. Killian stepped up behind the man, whispered something softly in his ear and stepped back. His hand wrapped carefully around the base of the whip as he brought it above his head, poised to strike. Slit took a deep breath, bracing his body for impact. And boy, did it come. Killian brought the device down with so much force Anya thought it would cut the man in half. Instead, it left a long, deep cut all along his back. Already it was gushing blood. She let out a horrified squeal. Slit, however, only grunted. Grinning evilly, Killian brought the the whip down on Slit's back one time more, and another, and another and another. He kept doing it until his the blood covered his entire back and was running freely down his legs and his screams could be heard from shore. He kept doing it until he knew that Slit could take no more and ordered him untied. No longer having the ropes to keep him standing, Slit fell to his knees at the captain's feet. "Thank you, captain, thank you. You were more than just. I do not deserve this kindness you have given me. Thank you for letting me live." Killian laughed cruelly, circling around the broken man as though he were an animal on exhibition. "In case you've forgotten, Slit, I do _not_ support insubordinance on my ship." He hoisted the man up by his considerably long hair and dragged him over to the side of the vessel. "Sweet dreams!" Giving the pirate a forceful shove, Killian sent him screaming over the edge. A few men stood there silently, heads bowed in respect, but most of them were smiling, exhilarated at the show their captain had just put on. In return, the captain flashed them a dazzling smile and shouted, "Back to work, men! There's no rest for the wicked!" They all did so obligingly.

He had almost forgotten about Anya, curled up on the deck as she was, until he heard a small sob come from her direction. "Anya? What's wrong, dove?" he asked confusedly, bending down so that he might be at eye level with her. She lifted her head and he saw that her eyes were rimmed with red. However saddening the image was, it brought out the brilliant blue of her eyes. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you down there?" She shook her head feebly and looked back down. Killian made to tilt her chin back up, but she flinched away from his touch. Bitter realization crossed his face. What he'd just done, torturing Slit, sending him to his death, _laughing_ about it. It had scared her. She was afraid to look him in the eye, to let him touch her. _Nothing I ever do is right anymore, is it? No matter how hard I try, no matter what I do, I'm the bad guy, _Killian thought tho himself. Rising, he walked slowly to his quarters. _I guess there is truly no rest for the wicked._


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay, here's my latest installment of GoR! I would like to mention (again) that I love every single review I receive and am so appreciative of my readers! In this chapter, I've decided to include a little back story for Killian and a very short glimpse at Anya's past, so look forward to that. Also, I gave a small salute to SpongeBob Squarepants, which I watched with a holy devotion as a small child, so we can make it a game to try to find that within the story. Finally, I would totally adore if you guys had any idea for the story that you would like to be incorporated, you could leave it in the review section or PM it to me. I love when readers get involved! Okay, now to the story...**

Anya was wrapped in her mother's arms, sitting in her lap, head tucked under her breasts. She was gently rocking back and forth, back and forth in her rocking chair, singing to her daughter a sweet melody that permeated the trees and flowers and garden around her, bringing forth life and beauty wherever the harmonious words graced the world. The young princess' eyes were fluttering, trying hard to maintain consciousness but failing horribly. She could see around her the serene beauty of her mother's garden, the hundred year old trees reaching for the sky, their spindly branches serving as fingers trying to grasp the clouds. She heard the birds singing in harmony with her mother's voice, making for an angelic composition of words and notes. The whole world was a serene utopia; nothing was real, everything was dazzling. The sun was an astonishing gold, it's rays rippling as soon as they touched the vibrant green leaves or the lucent pool of water. Here, Anya felt truly protected, truly loved. She knew that no one and nothing could hurt her. There _was_ no one else even, only her and her mother.

A jovial laugh escaped the older woman's lips, light and careless. Her chest shook gently as her eyes filled with mirth, though Anya could not figure out why. "Why-why are you laughing, Mama?" she asked innocently. Her mother only looked down and stroked her her silky hair soothingly, delicately shushing her. Unable to resist the temptation any longer, Anya submitted to her tiredness and shut her eyes, a slight smile gracing her young features.

Twenty years later, Anya woke up with a start. The boat had suddenly jolted, and she could hear cries on deck. _What is going on? _she thought confusedly, though whether it was because she had suddenly woken up in her meager quarters instead of in her mother's garden or because of the raucous up on deck she was not sure. Hurrying to make herself decent, she searched frantically for the new dress the captain had given her just days before. "_You need some suitable atire for living on a ship, Anya, and since your...crew members...poured ale all over your last one, I pulled this out for you_." he had said. The dress wasn't anything stunning, but then again, she hadn't wanted anything stunning. Modest and comfortable, it was made completely of white cotton, save for the green sleeves and hem at the bottom, and fell just before her knees. For that, Anya was grateful. Anything less and she was sure the lewd whispers she heard from the crew would soon turn into actions. Killian's warning to the men had not subdued them, only made them more secretive. They would slap her bottom as she passed when serving their meals and when the captain wasn't looking, rub her thighs when sitting at the table, even make obscene gestures with their hands and...private parts. Anya considered reporting them to Killian, but knew that would only make matters worse. She just had to put up with it.

The cries become steadily louder and Anya shook herself from her thoughts, pulling her dress from under her straw mattress. Shoving it over her head, she ran out of her room and up the stairs barefoot. The scene before her on deck was frantic and loud. Some men were suiting up in vests of leather and steel armor that fit awkwardly while others were loading canons and and lighting torches. Still others seemed to be running aimlessly around, trying to look as though they were busy. Over the obnoxious din of it all, Anya heard the unmistakable commanding voice of Killian. "The men I've selected will stay with the ship, guarding her. I don't want a _scratch_ on her, do you hear?" he roared. The men all nodded and shouted back, "Aye!" Anya wondered why exactly it was the captain was calling his ship 'her'. "The second group will pillage whatever they can from the city. We're in special need of fruits and bread. A new mattress, too. And of course, ale and whisky are always welcome!" There was another approving, "Aye!" among the men. Killian chuckled lightly and finished his speech. "I'll be going for the castle. She keeps many guards but knows me well enough. There'll be nothing stopping me from talking to_ her highness_. I'll get what I want out of her and we're all to meet back at the ship in two hours!" Killian walked to one of the men, whispering an order in his ear and made for the steering wheel. Once his eyes fell on Anya, he added as an afterthough, "Oh! And no matter what you men on the ship do, don't let this one out of your site", keeping his gaze fixed on hers the entire time. The men seemed to know who he was talking about.

As the ship was finally being guided toward the docks, Killian stood on the railing, holding on only to a rope attached to the sails. Anya gave a slight gasp, thinking first that he intended to jump, before he turned back around and shouted, "Are we ready men?" They all responded with an enthusiastic "Aye!" Killian smiled and yelled, "I can't hear you!" Even louder this time, the men _screamed_ "Aye!" Giving a satisfied nod, Killian turned back towards the city and exclaimed, "Then take what is yours!" before he and most of the crew charged for the docks. The boat was too large to bring it directly to the land, so the men had to jump into the water and swim to shore, but they didn't seem to mind. They were just as determined after a brief swim than if they had been able to attack straight off the boat.

Meanwhile, Anya was watching the entire scene with unadulterated confusion, hardly understanding what was going on. Who was Killian going to talk to? What did he want from her? What city was this, even? It was small and desolate, the houses meager huts that were falling apart. She could see very few people walking the dirt paths that served as streets, and there was not a tree or plant in sight. It was dull and neglected, as though God had forgotten about this small corner of the world. In contrast, the great castle that stood just beyond the town, if it could even be called that, was likely the most magnificent Anya had ever seen. The turrets were so tall Anya was sure that from the top, she would be able to reach up and touch a star. It glimmered in the sunlight, reflecting the vibrant rays as though they were not worthy enough to shine on such a monumental structure. The entire castle was a pure white, untarnished by wind or rain or sleet. The construction was so magnificent Anya could hardly avert her eyes. "What be you starin' at, princess?" asked Tag. _Why is he always around? _Anya wondered frustratedly to herself. Forcing herself to be polite, she responded, "the castle. It's beautiful-it's... surreal." Tag just chuckled at her. "I don't be knowing what that means, princess. It just be a castle, nothin' more." His ignorance was probably what irritated Anya the most. "Think what you like, Tag." Her voice was curt and aggravated. Despite the fact that Tag's skull was so thick hardly any words got through to his brain, he seemed to understand that she wasn't in the mood for talking. He walked slowly away, deciding instead to talk to Sam.

Anya was still staring at the castle when Smee walked up beside her, smiling kindly. "You doin' alright, Anya?" he asked. She nodded. "That palace, it's a thing of beauty, ain't it?" Anya nodded again. That was certainly an understatement. "I wonder what it's like on the inside." he pondered. "I guess we'll just have to ask cap'n." Anya raised her eyebrows and turned interestedly to him. It was the first time she looked away from the castle since she had seen it. "Killi-er-the captain is going in _there_?" she asked with amazement. Smee gave her a nod and an obvious look, as if that was the clearest thing in the world. "Where else would her majesty be living if not in the great castle, princess?" he asked. Anya supposed he was right. His words, however, sparked the curiosity inside of her. "Why _is _the captain visiting the queen, anyway?" she asked, feigning nonchalance. Smee gave her a hard stare and sighed. "Honestly, I'm not too sure. He says he knows her, that she has something he wants, but he ain't never told me what." Anya pursed her lips. He _had _to know more than that. He was the _second mate_. "He's never said anything about what he wanted from her? Does it have something to do with his sister?" At her words, Smee gave her a disquieted look. "How do you know 'bout his sister, Anya?" The girl looked foolishly at her bare feet. "I-when he-when the captain took me away from-my father, " she still couldn't bear to say his name without bursting into tears, "he said it was a because he wanted revenge for his sister. He claims my father sent her to her death unjustly, claimed my father killed an _innocent _woman. He said that he was going to do to my father what my father did to him, take the most important person in his life away. He said that he needed to avenge his sister! He said..." Anya unintentionally shuttered. During those brief sentences, her words had gotten more and more heated, and she could feel the blood in her veins start to boil angrily. Just thinking about what Killian had done to her and her father made her cross and distressed. "No matter. Just tell...tell me what exactly what it was he thinks happened to his sister." Smee sighed and gestured with his finger for her to lean in. She did so eagerly. The man began quietly, conspiratorially, as though the captain was standing just inches away. "His sister, Anatonia was her name, though everyone called her Anita, was a pirate long before him. Their parents were, out of the picture, shall we say? She raised him. I'm not too clear about what happened in between the time they were in the orphanage and the time where they found themselves sailing the seven seas, but it happened." Anya nodded her head, urging him to go on. He sighed again. "Story is she was looking for something. Some say treasure, some say an elixir of life, some say the edge of the world itself. Whatever it was, she devoted her life to it. And cap'n? Well, he followed her wherever she went. There was never anything he loved more in this world than his sister." Anya felt a pang of sympathy for Killian. Losing the thing you love most, that would be unbearable. But then she remembered that that was exactly what he had done to her father. The guilt evaporated. "She broke every law imaginable searching for whatever it was she was searching for. Broke every law in every realm that one did. Apparently, she was willing to find that thing at any cost, be it her life or her brother's." Anya nodded. It was a story told time and time again, the names and places being the only things that changed. "Now, I've never actually heard any of these things from capn's mouth, mind you, they're only stories." The princess didn't respond, lonely looked at him expectantly. "Story is, she found what she was looking for. She had it, but something went wrong. Some say the object was cursed, and that's why she died. Others say that your father wanted it too...and killed her before she could take it from him." Anya gritted her teeth when he said that. "Truth is, there ain't much more to the stories than that. Cap'n ain't never shared nothing with me, and every retelling of the story gets wilder and wilder. You can ask fifty different men on this ship and they'll give you fifty different answers. Unless the cap'n tells you from his own mouth what happened, you ain't never gonna know the whole truth." Anya hadn't expected anything different. "I figured. It's just...it's so frustrating being on this cursed ship every day, sleeping on that uncomfortable straw mattress every night, preparing the food, washing the deck, suffering every second because I know I won't ever see my father again, and never knowing _why_. I'm not even permitted to know _why_ I have to live the rest of my life this way! It's frustrating and unjust and...cowardly...of the captain." she muttered the word cowardly through a locked jaw and gritted teeth, sitting exasperatedly down on a nearby barrel. Grimly, Smee approached her, putting a soothing hand on her back. "The cap'n is many things, Anya, but cowardly is certainly not one of them." The young princess gave him a galled look; those were not the words he was supposed to say. Noticing the inflamed expression on her face, Smee decided that it was best to leave the princess on her own for now. "Princess, I best be gettin' to my duties. Ought to be going." Her demeanor melted away and Anya nodded solemnly. However, before Smee left her side, he planted a wet kiss on her cheek and whispered in her ear, "You'll always have a friend in me." His words made her smile, and for the first time since Anya had left her country, she didn't feel quite so lonely.

* * *

The castle was as he remembered, sparkling white marble with flecks of gold built into the structure. It was large and imposing, but still withheld a sense of grace and regality that only something made with and of magic could possess. Around it was a beautiful garden, with an immense apple tree weighed down by the plump, red fruits dominating the center. Above the double doors made of a 300 year old Cypress trees, which were the front entrance to the majestic castle, were written the words _Vivat Regina, _long live the queen. The woman was not one for subtlety. _And isn't it curious how her name means queen in latin? _Killian thought amusedly to himself. He wondered briefly if that had been intentional, or if her parents had just called her that by happenstance. _No matter, I've more...important matters to attend to, _he reminded himself. _  
_

Killian had only to approach the threshold to the great castle before the double doors swung magically open for him and two guards came walking up to him. "What do you want, scum?" one asked intimidatingly. The pirate laughed. "My, my, my. You guards get more and more savage every year, don't you?" he asked mockingly. The man who had spoken gave him a dirty look before the other chipped in. "He asked you a question, pirate!" Killian rolled his eyes, recognizing the barbaric yelling as a scare tactic he used on his crew. "I'm here to meet with her highness. We have important matters to discuss." Both men looked at each other fretfully, unsure whether to admit the strange man who stood on the doorstep of the palace. Very few commoners would dare to do such a thing, for fear of suffering consequences worse than death. Regina had rooted fear deep into the hearts and minds of ever impudent villager in the tiny town that surrounded her castle. It was unlikely that one would be so brash as to pull something like this.

However, before either guards could respond, their mouths were shriveling up like two worms in the sun. They wore on their face look of horror and pain, trying desperately to open up their lips and speak. The only sound they could muster, however, were horrible cries coming from within their throats as the pinkish red color of their lips dissipated and submited to the salmony peach hue of their skin. It only took a few moments before their mouths were gone entirely, replaced by a smooth layer of skin. At first, Killian hadn't know what was going on and stared at them in alarm and abhorrence. However, as he slowly understood the situation, he began laughing at the men who were now writhing on the ground, clawing at their faces. It appeared the little joke had driven them temporarily mad.

"Oh, Regina, stop torturing them! They're terrified. You've had your fun!" the man shouted seemingly to no one. Suddenly, a cold and forceful gust of wind almost pushed him over, swirling all around him, and he only kept laughing. "Regina, I know it's you! Come out so I can see you." Killian said. The wind stopped just as abruptly as it began. Killian looked slowly around, searching for any sign of the queen, as the men on the ground did the same, but with wild and disturbed expressions on their faces. However, despite six eyes searching for the beautiful and powerful sorceress, she was no where to be found. That is, until she materialized right behind Killian and gave him a gentle tap on the shoulder with her finger. He turned around expectantly, a smirk on his lips.

"Hello, Killian. So nice to see you again." the woman almost whispered. He responded with a light chuckle.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys! So I've received two ideas so far for the story, both of which I intend to incorporate! I'm still working out how exactly I'm going to do it, but be on the lookout in the next few chapters for your contributions! Anyways, this chapter reveals a little bit more about Killian's sister Anita, and ties in Regina to the story line as well. Hopefully you guys like it...**

"Quite a nice place you have, Regina." Killian commented, giving the inside of the palace an impressed once-over. "I do what I can" she replied smugly. Killian chuckled lightly. "Are you thirsty? Do you want some tea?" the queen asked politely. Killian shook his head no, walking to the great mirror that dominated the main hall. He gave a low whistle; it was certainly remarkable. " I suppose this is where the magic happens?" he asked sarcastically, smiling at his own quip. "You've got that right, _captain_. Through that mirror I can see anywhere in this world, or the next one for that matter." she replied, pouring herself tea from a silver teapot. Killian tried to pretend as though her words hadn't meant anything to him. _That's exactly what I was hoping for_, he thought to himself. The queen must have read his thoughts, as she walked beside him and asked knowingly, "But that's why you've come, isn't it? To see the magic happen." The man turned to her, bemused. "And why would you think that, my queen?" It was true, but he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of telling her that. "It's the only reason anyone comes to see me anymore, Killian. That, and to murder me for my past deeds, but the latter never really works out." Despite her joking words, the pirate could sense in her voice a genuine sorrow. It was the sorrow of a woman who had no one and nothing to love, to trust. _Here I go getting sentimental again, _thought Killian. _Anita never made the mistake of getting too close to the wrong people. __I've already gotten too attached to the nun girl, no need to feel sorry for Regina, either. _He was trying to force himself to be uncaring, and it was working to some degree. "Alright, I've been caught. I need you to use your...mirror...and find something for me." he told her. She turned to him, eyebrows raised, surprised that he was being so straightforward with her. "Normally people try to deny their true reason for coming." Regina told him. Killian shrugged and replied, "I don't like to play games." The evil queen smiled. That was a rare quality, and one she admired. "I like a confident, honest man" she stated matter of factly, sitting down in a chair large and ornate enough to be a throne. Then again, it probably was one. "What is it you'd like me to find, Killian?" she asked attentively. The captain was suddenly uncertain. "That's my problem...I don't know exactly what it is I want. I just know I want it." The queen sighed. "Well, how do you know it even exists or that you want it if you don't know what it is?"

"You know."

"I'm afraid I don't, K"

"I want what she was looking for, what she found."

"Who is it you're talking about?"

"Don't play dumb. You were friends. You _must _know what she wanted."

"We were friends, but _you _were siblings. Why would I know what you didn't?"

"You two spent every waking moment with eachother. She confided everything to you."

"Not everything, Killian. She never told me the object of her desires. All I know is that whatever it was, she found it right before she died."

"And I don't think that's a coincidence."

"Neither do I."

The two stared at eachother long and hard, one sitting upon her high throne, the other at her feet asking for help. It was a scene written and rewritten in all stories since the dawn of time. "Fine. If you don't know what she was looking for, then use your mirror to look into the past. _See_ what it was she wanted." Killian's voice had taken on a desperate determination. "The mirror doesn't work like that. I can see anywhere in any world, but only in the present. I can't see the future, nor the past." Regina sounded legitimately apologetic, as if she wanted it just as much as Killian. In all truthfulness, she did, but she would never admit that. Anita was the only friend Regina had after becoming queen and accepting the full power of her magic, including the dark aspect. Anita had been the only person who had loved the distressed woman after her father and Daniel were gone. Her death hurt more than even Regina could admit to herself. And she would give anything to find out exactly what it was she had died for.

"You must have _some_ way to see into the past. You're the bloody _queen_, even if you don't have the power, you have to have access to _someone _who does!" Killian's voice was no longer desperate, but angry at Regina's defeated attitude. Regina, however, remained calm and replied, "It turns out I do have someone who can help us with this...dilemma...but I don't have what they require for their ritual..." then, the queen's eyes widened as realization dawned on her. "But you...you Killian, you _do _have what they require." She let out a small giggle, excited with her sudden brilliance. She didn't know why she hadn't though of it before, why she hadn't seeked Killian out, but it didn't matter any longer. All was well. She was finally going to get her answers. "Run back to your ship. Get something of Anita's, something she touched. Meet me in the church in half an hour. I'll have your girl." The captain shook his head. "Why the church?"

"Because the girl's powers only work if there's no evil around to cloud her vision. The sanctity of the church will balance out my...darker...powers." Killian gave the woman before him a grateful look, not truly caring what she meant by 'darker' powers, before turning away from her and sprinting for the doors. However, before he could leave the castle entirely, Regina spoke, "Oh! And Killian? We can discuss my _price_ later." Killian's gratitude for the queen's generosity dissipated. A deed such as this was sure to cost him an arm and a leg. But what was an arm and a leg when compared to closure, to achieving his sister's dreams and finishing her life long work? Killian would insure that his sister's death would not be in vain. And only then could he attain inner peace. Perhaps that was cliche, but it was true. Killian could not continue on with his life until his he understood his sister's death and avenged it. And he was about to do both. _  
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* * *

Anya was playing a game of cards with Smee, Tag, and a pirate named Cringe, whose name was an accurate indicator of the man himself, as he cringed almost as often as he took a breath. She was two cards away from winning, while the three pirates around her were seven or more. They were not the sharpest bunch in the world, but they were all she had to entertain her. To make the game more challenging, she forced herself to skip every third turn, so that she might give the other players an advantage. Still, she was winning. _I miss my books_, she thought regretfully, sighing discontentedly. She needed something to challenge her mind, she needed someone to discuss or debate with, someone who was just as intelligent as her. Unfortunately, men did not seem to become pirates if they were well educated scholars. She doubted any of them could speak real, proper english. Even the captain used the pirate slang with the crew, if he didn't think Anya was listening. But she was, she always was.

"Princess, you be going? It be your turn." Cringe asked, flinching twice during his brief two sentences. Anya looked down at the four piles of cards in the center of the table and saw a way to win, but instead shook her head and said, "I have no moves. Skip my turn." The pirate looked at her doubtfully, as she had skipped her turn for the third time in a row, but didn't say anything. He wasn't going to argue with her when she was making it easier to win. Smee had just placed his queen and his king in the far left pile when they heard someone calling from the docks. Sam, who had been dutifully surveying the land the entire time, threw a rope over the side to the person and began pulling with all his force. After a few moments, the captain was climbing over the side of the boat, the bottom of his pants and his shoes sopping wet, but otherwise dry. He walked directly up to Anya and took her by the arm, pulling her over to his quarters. Once inside, he closed the door and looked at her excitedly. "Give me your dress." he demanded. The request was so abrupt and so odd that Anya could only stare at him. The captain, impatient with her, repeated himself. "I said, _give me your dress_." He held his hand out expectantly. "Why?" Anya asked, confused. _Because it's the only thing I have left of my sister!_ Killian wanted to shout, but only said, "Because I said so, _slave._" She gave him an indignant look and crossed her arms over her chest. "And if I give you my dress, what will I wear? You threw my other dress overboard." The girl certainly was getting more and more comfortable with him everyday. Comfortable enough to deny him something that was his, despite the slight setback he had experienced with the 'Slit' incident. "Look, I need the dress for reasons between me and the queen, so _give it to me_." he tried to make his last words sound intimidating, but to Anya they only sounded silly. "You know, captain, I haven't been off this wretched boat in three months. I would really love to spread my legs and walk around for a bit." Killian's eyes narrowed. _Well, I would certainly love if you spread your legs, but I'd rather you stay put on this ship. _He didn't dare say though, though; he was worried about where his was going and thought it best to stay on her good side. "If you let me come with you to see the queen, you'll have your precious little dress with you the whole time _and_ you'll have a very grateful servant. I wouldn't complain, I wouldn't ask for anything, I'd be a good girl if you just let me come with you." Anya's words with sincere, and suddenly, the captain realized that. Her abstinance on the matter, her unyielding and uncharacteristic boldness stemmed from desperation. There was no way she could continue on this boat for much longer. If what she said was true, and Killian truly believed it was, then just a quick walk through town, seeing new faces and hearing new voices, would be enough to restore her sanity. And to Killian, sanity in a woman was very important. He'd traveled down the other road before, and that was _not_ pretty.

"Alright. You can accompany me. However, while we are in town you are to do _everything_ I tell you to do," he said sternly. "My orders are final. No matter who you see, no matter what happens, you stay close to me and keep your mouth shut, unless I tell you otherwise. This is a very dangerous place." His words had taken on a dangerous tone, low and fast. It occurred to Anya that maybe the captain was _scared_ of the town. _No, scared isn't the word. Disquieted, unsettled, maybe, but the captain could never be scared, _the young princess-turned-nun assured herself. "The village seems rather harmless to me. Unsavory, maybe, but not..._threatening_." The captain shook his head and closed his eyes, as if to say, 'you really are that ignorant, aren't you?' "This place is under the queen's jurisdiction. She has every man, woman and child in the palm of her hand. If she wanted you dead, you'd be so within moments of setting foot on land. She might have been a friend to my sister, but never one to me." Anya's curiosity sparked at his words, but she decided to keep to the matter at hand. "If she could have us killed so easily, then why wouldn't she just kill us now? Why wouldn't she have killed you when you went to visit her in her castle?" The captain thought briefly about the answer, and replied to Anya, "The queen may be vicious, she may be malicious, but she doesn't kill without reason. And, I have something that she wants. She pretends that she doesn't, but I know what it means to her. Unfortunately, though, she knows what it means to me as well..." Killian's face was scrunched in thought, his eyes staring intently at the floorboards of the ship, and yet seeing far beyond them. Anya cleared her throat awkwardly. The captain's head shot back up. "If we're to make it back here for lunch, we best get going, princess." he told her, before walking briskly out of the quarters. Anya did her best to keep up.

The walk wasn't as long as Killian expected it to be, though most of it was uphill. He had been able to see the large cross peaking over the thatch roof of a particularly shabby home from his ship, and had expected something modest and dilapidated, like everything else in the cursed town, but he had been completely wrong. The two travelers had rounded the corner of a narrow and dark alley, and had found themselves in square with an immense fountain, built entirely of individual shards of glass that glimmered in the feeble sunlight. The water shot up at least ten feet, and was as pure and clean as was possible. He wondered briefly why the peasants didn't crowd around and fight over it. But then, he realized at the base were inscribed latin words written in a fanciful cursive. _ut omnes qui bibitis ardebit in inferno_. The words were beyond his knowledge, as he knew only how to say 'long live the queen' and 'forever'. Therefore, he gave Anya, who was staring at the square with a sense of unparalleled wonder, a gentle nudge and pointed to the words. "What do they mean?" She approached them, bent down, analyzed them, and spoke. "May all...who...drink...burn in...Hell." Killian laughed. He supposed that answered his question. _Regina would_. The young princess did not find them nearly as amusing. She turned around sharply and gave him a dirty look, as if he had just violated her. "Oh, lighten up, princess! It's just the queen being her evil, selfish self! Nothing more." he managed to stifle his laughter, but could do nothing for the amused smile that refused to leave his face. "Religion, god, the devil, they're not meant to threaten and torture innocent people with." she told him, her voice filled with compassion and truth. Killian knew better. "Don't you see, Anya? That's _all_ they exist for. Heaven, hell...it's all just meant to oppress the weak so that the rich might live...richly! They exist to create fear within the hearts of those stupid enough to believe it." Anya's only reply was a look of both shock and disgust. Here Killian was, prodding at the foundation of her very existence, and _laughing_ about it. He thought it was all a joke. He thought religion was for the stupid and the naive. He thought it was for those who were too scared to face reality, who had nothing good in their lives to believe in, so they turned to religion. "That's _not _true! The Holy Bible-"

"Can _burn_ for all _I_ care!" Killian interrupted, laughing maniacally. The princess didn't know how to react to that, so she walked up to him daringly, not thinking of the consequences, and slapped him across the face. Killian stood there for a moment in shock, and Anya as well, before he took her gruffly by the arm. The princess stiffened her body and closed her eyes, preparing for impact. Instead of feeling a sharp pain on her bottom or face, however, Anya heard a whisper in her ear, dangerously low and possessing little control, "Don't you _ever_ touch me again, slave, or you will _thoroughly _regret it." She opened her eyes and looked directly at his face, nodding eagerly.

"Yes, captain. I'm sorry, I haven't any idea what posessed me..."

"That's the thing princess, _nothing_ possessed you, because nothing exists that _can _possess."

"I disagree."

"Take it up with God."

"I will."

"Good."

"Wonderful."

There was a stiff silence following their words, accompanied by a series of prolonged stares, before finally Killian heard a voice behind them. "Who's this?" He turned to see Regina, who stood directly in front of the church doors. "No one of importance." She smiled. "I highly doubt that. But now's not the time. We must get on with it." With small gesture of the hand, the entrance to the church opened magically, and Regina strutted in confidently. Killian made to follow her, but noticed that Anya was staring fearfully at the building. "Come now Anya, I would think you would be overjoyed at the fact we're going into a church." The princess shot him a worried glance, but instead told him, "You go ahead. I'll follow you in a moment."_  
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	8. Chapter 8

**Hey, guys! So, I wrote this entire chapter in one sitting and, quite frankly, I'm very proud of it. I think the last few chapters might have been declining in quality, but I think this one definitely makes up for it. Also, I really wanted to publish this before the show airs (I hear it's a very Hook-centric episode!) so I stayed up 'till all hours of the night last night writing. I couldn't stop! I just had idea after idea after idea. Have you guys ever had those creativity surges? I love 'em! On another note, I'm going to incorporate one of the ideas that was suggested to me next chapter, so be prepared for that! But anyways, here's the chapter and please don't be afraid to tell me what you think! -Airel**

The church was the most beautiful Killian had ever seen, with high, Romanesque ceilings that must have been built by God himself, if Killian believed in such nonsense. There were windows made of colored glass with beautiful depictions of countless saints, too many to name and too similar to distinguish between. The rays of sun that shone through them turned red and blue and green and seemed to reflect off the meticulously scrubbed marble floors. There were lines and lines of maple wood benches, clearly untouched, as there was a thick layer of dust resting on each and every one of them. At the front of the church was a beautiful cross and an altar adorned with candles and opulent offerings to Christ our lord. Killian wondered briefly if Regina was religious, or if the church had existed before she had arrived at this dreadful place.

Neither Killian nor Regina noticed that Anya had still not entered the church, as she was standing right outside the threshold, staring apprehensively at the door, as though she thought she would catch flame if she dared enter. In fact, she did think that. _I've broken my vows, I don't deserve to enter this place. I should be punished. I should be- _"Anya, why aren't you coming?" Killian's questioning voice tore her from her thoughts. She didn't reply. "Hello? Anya, are you still in there?" he asked sarcastically. "Come, child." _There he goes with the 'child' again, _she thought irritatedly. Taking a silent, deep breath and a leap of faith, Anya stepped into the church. She had unknowingly closed her eyes during the act, and now she opened one beautiful, blue orb with an adorable apprehension. Regina gave a small giggle; the girl's unmistakable quirkiness was heart warming. Killian seemed to find it equally amusing as he was fighting hard to suppress a chuckle. The girl looked abashedly down to the ground, her cheeks flushing a light pink. "Did we come here to make fun of me, or was there some other purpose?" she asked the two angrily. They took a moment to control their laughter, before regaining their composure and serious expressions. "The girl's right. Did you bring your...item, Killian?" Regina asked expectantly. Killian nodded. "Yes, I did. Did _you_ pull through, queen?" The woman laughed, as though it was a ridiculous question. "Have you ever known me to break a promise, pirate?" The captain shrugged."It wasn't strictly a promise that we made."

"No, but either way, I pulled through. Lanoria, come here. Don't be afraid." At her words, a tall woman scurried out from an inconspicuous door in the side of the church and stood next to Regina. Her face was mature, though not old. She retained a youthful quality about her, even though she must have been in her late thirties. She wore a modest dress, with patches and stains around the bottom, and walked with head held low and defeated posture. It was clear that she had been working for Regina for quite some time. She always managed to suck a bit of their soul out of them, steal their hope and innocence. Luckily, this case was not a completely lost cause. Anya could see within her eyes a light. It was dim and flickering, but it was still there. _That's all it takes: a small sense of hope, a will to live. As long as they have that, they can be saved. _But she knew the woman, Lanoria, was not hers to save. She was not hers to reconcile and heal. Lanoria was a slave for the evil queen. Anya was a slave for the pirate captain. Neither were free to help each other. Neither were free, period. _Things could be worse. Things could be infinitely worse. I, most of all, should know this. At least Kililan has a heart. At least he has pity. He doesn't force me to lay with him every night. He treats me with relative respect, as long as I obey him. Really, I'm lucky for having him as a captor. _How demented her definition of 'lucky' had become.

It was the captain's voice that spoke next, "Who is this?", referring to the girl Lanoria but staring directly at Regina as though the other woman did not exist. She was used to that, however. "This...is the woman who is going to give you your answers." she said, gesturing to Lanoria, who gave deep bow. "Now, where is it? Where is the thing that belonged to Anita?" Killian, in turned, gestured dramatically to Anya, who had stayed silent throughout the the entire exchange. "Right here." The queen gave him a confused look. "Unless that is a very life-like doll who can speak and move, I don't think that strictly qualifies as an 'object'." Killian laughed. "Not the girl. The dress. It was Anita's" At his words, Anya raised her eyebrows. _He gave me his sister's dress? This was Anita's dress? _Evidently, she did a terrible job of concealing her surprise. "Why, you look like you've just seen a ghost, child." Regina noted innocently, smiling warmly. Anya could see beyond that though, see beyond the superficial smile to the acidic and bitter woman behind. She would not be fooled by the queen's insincere kindness. She had heard tales even as a young girl of Queen Regina's unequaled cruelty, of her sinister personality and thirst for vengeance No, Anya did not intend to let Regina fool her or Killian, though she was almost certain that Kilillan knew exactly what was going on in the woman's head as well. It always seemed that he knew what _Anya_ was thinking, anyway.

"Very well. Unless she'd like to...remove...the garment, she'll need to participate in the ritual." Regina told Killian, superior to superior. Anya realized that in her presence, Killian would speak of her and Lanoria as though they were animals, objects without intelligence or emotions. But then he turned to her, as if asking, 'which one would you rather do, wait naked in the church, or participate in an evil ritual?'. Maybe she was wrong about him. "I'll, I'll do whatever's needed of me." she told Regina uncertainly. The woman nodded and turned walked towards the front of the church. Killian followed, as did Lanoria.

"Lanoria will need to touch the dress in order to access Anita's memories. Unfortunately, because the subject is... deceased" Regina cleared her throat uncomfortably before continuing "the process might take a bit longer than expected, and...complications might arise." Killian gave her a worried glance. "What _sort_ of complications?" Regina waved her hand dismissively. "Nothing too dangerous. You shouldn't be worried." The captain narrowed his eyes questioningly, but didn't continue. "Are we all in accordance?" Another vapid smile played at her lips. "Alright then, let's get on with it. Get your girl." Killian looked behind him, thinking that Anya had been standing there, but she wasn't. Suddenly fear and fury jolted through him, before he realized that she was kneeling at the base of the altar, on her knees, head touching the ground. Her hands were flat in front of her and she was chanting a prayer quietly. "What is she doing?" Regina asked amusedly. "I think it's pretty obvious" Killian replied. He'd heard the words 'absolve' and 'sins' escape her lips, and he wondered briefly why it was the girl had done to want forgiveness for. But then, he remembered bitterly the night he had...interlocked...with her. _That's why she wants forgiveness. That's her sin_, the thought bitterly. She truly believed that she was the guilty one, it seemed. _  
_

"Well, make her stop. I don't have all day, and I'd rather not waste my time letting some little girl sing silly songs to her God." Her condescending voice infuriated Killian, though he knew that was likely the tone he had taken outside the church, when he had been mocking Anya's beliefs. He'd had no right. "Come on. Just let the girl pray. She was a nun, she's been through a lot." Regina laughed. "_I've_ been through a lot, K. _She's_ been through nothing. Now let's _get on with it_." Sighing, Killian walked slowly over to Anya and gently tapped her shoulder. She looked up to him with tear-stained eyes. Regretfully, he took her by the arm and pulled her lightly to her feet, all the while wearing a look of true remorse on his face.

"Good. Now that that's done, we can continue." Regina declared, turning her back to the couple. Anya looked up to Killian with an irritated look, and he replied with a light chuckle. Both followed her. Standing before a great stained-glass window, Lanoria stepped tentatively up to Anya, towering over her, and put a sweaty hand on her side. Closing her eyes, she began singing shrilly the words to an ancient song. It seemed to be without a steady beat or melody, and the words sounded harsh and foreign, yet Anya still found a strange beauty to it. She was hearing words long forgotten to most men, experiencing something few had experienced. The woman's voice suddenly began to increase in volume and intensity, and Anya swore that for a moment, she was someone else. She felt taller and stronger, more sure of herself. It was empowering, surreal. The woman she had briefly become was different than her in both mind and body, confident and dangerous where Anya was unsure and peaceful. The feeling had shocked her, had scared her. And yet, the woman was still singing. The young princess tried to hardest to make herself believe that it had just been her imagination. She had been tired and stressed, that was all it was. And yet, she still felt a strange surge of power circling around her. She felt something take root deep inside of her, something warm. As Lanoria's words grew louder and louder, the force grew stronger and more prominent inside of her. She began to shake, and Killian took an automatic step towards her. The power that was inside of her was becoming uncomfortable, was taking her over. A shudder ran through her, and for the second time, she felt like somebody else. This time, the feeling lasted longer, and Anya couldn't manage to convince herself it was her imagination. This time, instead of feeling powerful, she felt angry and violent. Evil emotions were controlling her, swelling inside her, and it made her feel dirty and and scared. The girl who was Anya was shoved into a small corner of her mind, of _whoever's_ mind it was, and forgotten for an infinite instant. That instant, however, was enough to drive her wild. She jumped back from the woman's touch, the sensation getting to be too much to handle, but Regina ordered the girl to continue. Lanoria gave Anya an apologetic look before stepping forward again and putting both her hands on the dress. Anya was jolted abruptly from the church, and assumed her alternate identity once again. However, she did not return to being Anya just as soon as it happened. Instead, she became the other woman entirely, and found herself in a small cabin, the floor under her shifting constantly, before a sickly woman. She was reaching feebly for Anya, or whoever, hand shaking with effort. She was trying to mutter a word, but the sounds that emerged from her mouth were incomprehensible. The woman's face was hollow and an unnatural shade of green. It was clear she was ridden with some sickness, and had been for some time, but that didn't make the image any less frightening. So, Anya screamed; or, whoever she had _become_ screamed. It was a sound of pure terror and suffering, and reflected exactly how Anya felt at that moment. Distantly, she could hear the impassioned cry of Killians voice, begging Regina to make her stop.

"Regina you have to tell her to stop! She's hurting Anya!" Killian cried, voice shaking with worry. "I don't think it's that bad, K." the woman replied snidely. "She's screaming and writhing! If you won't stop her, I will!" he announced angrily, stepping towards the witch. Regina shook her finger no and and placed her hand on Killian's shoulder. He tried to shake her off, but something was keeping him still. _What's going on? Why can't I move, _he thought frantically. Regina's mocking laugh was answer enough. "Brute strength never beat magic, K. You should know that best of all. If you want to know what you're precious sister was searching for, then this has to happen." By now, Anya had fallen to her knees and had begun screaming, "Don't touch me! Don't touch me! Get away! Please. Please, don't!"

The moments where Anya became the other girl were getting longer and longer, and she was herself less and less. Everytime, she was torn away from the people and building surrounding her and found herself in the tiny cabin, always with the disgusting, old woman. She had begun crawling towards Anya, reaching for the hem of her dress, which was coincidentally the dress she had been wearing in the church. She was finally able to form words with her mouth, but she decided to keep repeating the same one. "Blood, blood, blood, blood." _What does she mean by that? Does she want my blood? Is she trying to kill me?_ Anya thought in the back of _someone_'s mind, struggling desperately to overtake the body that she was now trapped in. Still, the woman kept repeating the word, "Blood, blood, blood, blood, blood..." Her voice was scratchy, as if it had not been used for centuries, and was pleading, dripping with desperation and hopelessness. _Stop saying that! Please, please,_ please, _stop saying that!_ Anya thought maddeningly, though she couldn't get the words to come out of her mouth. _Who am I? Who is this woman? Where am I? Someone please help me! Please help me!_ Instead of feeling empowered and strong, like she had the first time she became this woman, she suddenly felt shock and resentment. Why, she did not know. _Maybe this is happening somewhere else. Maybe I'm seeing and feeling what some other woman is seeing and feeling. _Suddenly, she was pulled from her mysterious persona and the cabin, and brought back to the church. She found herself on her knees, the girl sitting beside her, still chanting her unholy incantation. Above her was Killian, who was standing unnaturally still, and Regina, who was watching her quiver with a sickening fascination. Within her, she still felt the dirty and powerful energy swelling. It was becoming hotter and hotter, and spreading to her neck and shoulders, causing her to scream even louder. She found that she could no longer control her movements, and she was shaking wildly. In the brief moments where the pain receded enough for her to be able to formulate words, they were dripping with agony, "Please! Why? Please, stop! Help me. Please stoooooop!" Tears were running freely down her cheeks and violent sobs racked her body. Similarly, Lanoria's face was red from crying. Evidently, causing Anya so much pain was hurting her almost as much as it was hurting Anya. However, she kept glancing nervously at Regina, who gave her an intimidating and angry look, as if to say, "If you stop, I'll have your head _and_ your husand's". She kept digging deeper into the woman's memories, searching the dress to uncover its secrets. She didn't know why the woman who owned this dress' memories were so important to her queen, but they did. So, she had to torture this poor, innocent girl, force her to endure something no one should ever have to experience, all because of Regina. Lanoria cursed the queen's name, promising herself that one day, she would get her revenge. She would get her revenge, her son's revenge, this girl, Anya's, revenge. But that day was not today, and she still forced herself to keep her hand on the woman's waist.

Anya was ready to kill herself. If there had been a knife lying right next to her hand, she gladly would've plunged it into her heart or stomach. The pain had become so unbearable, so_ impossibly_ unbearable, she wasn't sure she could continue. Again, she was jerked violently from her environment and sent to the dark, suffocating cabin whose floors shifted. The woman was still there, looking as sickly as ever, though this time she was sitting back comfortably. She was able to speak a bit more easily, and was repeating a sentence this time instead of a single word. "Blood of a royal. Blood of a royal. Blood of a royal. Blood of a royal." She was rocking insanely back and forth, back and forth, back and forth as she whispered the words. She looked up to Anya's body, and only then did she notice that the whites of her eyes were a terrifying blood red. She hadn't any pupil, only an iris, and it was jet black. It made Anya want to begin screaming again. But whatever she thought, whatever she wanted, her body didn't respond. This wasn't her, this wasn't-

For the final time, Anya was torn from her new body and identity, and brought back to the church. Her screams were echoing off of the marble floor and high walls, and it seemed the entire building shook with her body. The surge of power inside her was coming to a head, having reached every crevice and corner of her body. It was reaching its zenith, and Anya knew that when it finally hit maximum...force...something would happen. Something bad. The pain was slowly building up inside of her body, coursing through her veins. She could feel it from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. It was gaining strength every second it was in her body, growing more and more vigorous and violent. The anticipation for what was going to happen was maddening, like when you know you're going to be sick, and she wished it would just _happen_. Whatever horrible torture 'it' might be.

And it did. In a single moment of pure and complete agony, the world dissapeared. Anya was blinded, deafened. She could not feel or think or cry or scream. She did not know what was happening, what happened, as she was unaware of everything in the world, but everyone around her could see it. For a moment in time, one unbelievable second, Anya transformed. The short, young nun writhing in pain on the floor became the tall, strong, fierce sister Killian had known and loved so many years before. She seemed insubstantial, unreal as she stood before them, and she was. She was a trick Lanoria had played with her magic, an image summoned by forces unfathomable to any of the people present. Whether she was a projection of Anya's visions, the woman who had spoken to the old lady in the cabin, or Killian's interpretation of what his sister might look like if she had not died, no one knew. But for that single point in time, the dead returned to the realm of the living and walked the earth once again. It was a supposedly impossible feat, and yet, there Anita-Anya-stood. She could only say one word, "Mother" before she vanished like dust in the wind, the word still hanging eerily in the air. In her place was a shaking, bleeding, broken Anya. She was curled into the fetal position, hugging her legs to her chest, crying like a child.

Regina released her magical grasp on Killian as soon as she realized that it was over, and he rushed immediately to her side. His eyes were wide and pitying, and seeing Anya in her pain made him want to rip his heart out. He shushed her soothingly, rubbing her hair and back. She tried to muster up the strength to get up, but couldn't force herself to do it. So, Killian sat her up and cradled her in his arms, letting her cry into his chest and shoulder. The sound was the most saddening and deplorable he had ever heard, and Killian gave Regina an angry glare, as if to say, "I'll get you for this, you evil bitch!" She gave a loud and genuine laugh. And the sound of her laugh and Anya's cries intertwined to make a sickening melody of pain and joy, and it rebounded and echoed off of the church's walls endlessly.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey, guys! Here's chapter 9 for 'ya. And who absolutely loved the Killian-Emma scenes in last week's episode? I know I did! They're just so banter-y. The best couples always are. Anyways, I wanted to get this out there 'cause there's the elections tonight and God knows _that'll_ be important. Also, I have a long break this weekend and have already filled my schedule to the brim, so the next chapter will probably not be coming out until about Saturday. Sorry, peoples! But I hope you still enjoy this little installment...and feel free to review, review, review!**

"You call those _minor_ complications?" Killian yelled, face inches from Regina's. "I wonder what would have happened if there had been _major_ complications!? What in the _hell_ happened, anyway? How did you bring Anita back to life? _Was _that even Anita? Who is that girl that did that, anyway? And _what_, pray tell, did she even do?" he spat out question after question, each more venomous and angry than the last. Regina did not respond, only stood there quietly with a bored look on her face until he was finally done. "What Lanoria did was quite simple, really. She searched the dress for memories, whatever memories the owner, in this case, Anita, had. Because Anita is dead, however, there needed to be someone else to...experience...the memories. At first, I was going to have a village girl do it, but you bringing Anya along was just too perfect." Killian drew in a guarded breath, trying to harness his raging emotions and said, "You expect me to believe that what just happened to Anya...the reason she was _screaming in pain_ was because she was reliving one of Anita's memories?" Regina nodded. "It's the truth, K. Becoming someone else...even just mentally, can be an extremely taxing process."

"But it wasn't just mentally! At the end, she, she _became_ Anita, in flesh_ and _mind! She even spoke like her!"

"That remains to be the inexplicable part. It was a rare phenomenon. I can't quite be sure what caused it."

"That's all you have...'I can't quite be sure?' Do you even see her over there? She's shaking like a leaf!" Killian shouted, gesturing angrily over to Anya, who was sobbing into the shoulder of Lanoria. "I see it, Killian. I see it just as clearly as you and I'm _sticking _with my answer. _I have no idea what happened."_ she pointedly articulated the lasts sentence, teeth bared, as if she were going to scare Killian off. "Well, then, what about what Anita _said_? Why the hell did she say 'mother'? Hmmm? Do you have an answer to that, all mighty queen?" The woman took a step forward, sticking her finger in Killian's face. "What I'm doing, this, is a _favor_. I can have you out of here in minutes, and missing a soul and limbs, if I was feeling particularly evil. Would you like that, Killian?" Regina raised her eyebrows expectantly, waiting for his answer. He shook his head. "I didn't think so. If you'd let me talk, I might have some answers for you." she paused dramatically, thinking hard. "When Anita, or the thing that looked like Anita, said 'mother', I believe it was referring to the memory it was reliving. I think it was giving an indication as to what she was looking for, what she wanted."

Killian's eyes widened; the queens' words were making sense. "You think...you think she was searching for her, _our_, mother?" he asked, shocked. He had been told since the earliest moments he could remember that his mother and father had died of small pox and the plague, respectively. "I don't think she was searching for your mother. I think she _found_ her." Regina said, eyes shining with an inexplicable joy. "But if that's true, why would she keep it from me?" Killian asked, letting himself be excited. _Was his mother alive? Was he not alone in the world after all_?

Regina's only reply to his question was a defeated shrug of the shoulders. "I don't know why she wouldn't tell you, K. But at least you know now what she wanted. And that she probably found it." The man nodded, sighing heavily. _So close, and yet so far. _"So I suppose the next thing to do would be having you locate exactly where my mother is." he said. Regina laughed. "The next step? K, I did what you asked. The deal is done. I owe you nothing more. In fact, you owe _me._" She said, smiling evilly. _Give him his answers, so I can ask my questions. _"What? No, you can't just give me that. You can't tell me my mother's alive, that Anita found her, and send me on my way! You can't!" he declared angrily, taking small steps closer and closer towards her, until they were chest to chest. "Can't I?" Regina asked amusedly, "Watch me." She turned abruptly, walked towards the steps to the altar and turned again towards Killian. "Now it's you he needs to fulfill their end of the bargain," she said. Killian narrowed his eyes. "What makes you think I'll give you what you want if you're not going to help me?" he wondered out loud. The woman laughed. "Because I have _magic_, Killian. And magic is _power._" As if to accentuate her words, she turned her eyes towards Anya, who had just regained relative composure. Still sitting next to her was Lanoria, and the two girls were talking quietly between each other. Suddenly, as though by magic, Anya fell to the ground, overcome by fits of crying. She began to scream, much like she had just minutes before, and was raised in the air by invisible strings. Her eyes were wide with terror and confusion, as she struggled in mid-air, quite uselessly. "Let me down! Please stop! Please let me down." she squealed, giving Regina a desperate stare. Killian, who could no longer deal with seeing Anya in anymore pain, clenched his teeth and ordered Regina to set her down. She complied willingly. "You'd do well to remember who is _truly _in power here, Killian." she told him chidingly, taking great pleasure in her superiority. "Fine. What do you want, vile soul?" he asked in a controlled town. "I want answers. I want to ask you a question, and I want an honest response." she stated matter-of-factly. _Is this a trick, _Killian though suspiciously. _Is this truly all she wants? Answers? Or was there some deeper meaning beyond her words, some secret game only she was playing?_ "Ask away, Regina. I'll answer to the fullest of my ability." he told her, feigning confidence and charm. At that moment, he was trying to assess the expression on her face, but she was a closed book. She was careful to let no emotion mar her perfectly placid features. _An expert in deception, it seems. You can't deceive me, though, Regina, _Killian thought smugly to himself. He would not let her tricks blind him. He was smarter than that, better than that. _  
_

"You'll answer, just like that?" Regina asked surprisedly. She had expected him to demand something more in return, even though their original deal had said she only needed to find him what Anita was looking for. She had dealing with pirates. "I'll answer, just like that. But...I want our deal to be paid _in full__." _he responded. "Our deal stated that I help you figure out what it was Anita wanted, and-"

"No!" Killian interrupted. "Our deal was you helped me _find_ what it was Anita wanted. You've only gotten me half way there." Regina tilted her head, narrowed her eyes. What was he playing at? "And how exactly do you expect me to find your mother, if that is in fact what she was looking for?" she asked. "Use your magic mirror! You _said_ you could see anywhere in the world through it!" he shouted, angry at her stupidity. She seemed to find his lack of control amusingly inferior, as she gave a condescending laugh. "If you can tell me where she is, what she looks like, what her _name_ is, then I _might_ be able to help you, Killian. Can you do any of that?" she asked as if she were speaking to a child. Killian looked to the ground, ashamed. He could not. He hadn't any idea what his mother's name was, much less what she looked like. He hadn't seen her since he was born. But, there was always Anya...If she could try to remember the memory she had relived, if his mother had been in it, she might be able to give him a description. It was his only hope. Sighing, he called across the church, "Anya?" She turned to him with a her big, innocent eyes, now full of fear and apprehension, and replied, "Yes, captain?" He didn't respond, only gestured for her to come over to him. Lanoria helped her stand from her position on the bench, and supported her for the short walk over to Killian. It seemed being turned into another person and suspended in mid air took quite the toll on you physically. Who would've known?

Lanoria handed her over to Killian, as though she were a porcelain doll who could not walk on her own, and she nearly collapsed in his arms. His reflexes were sharp enough so that she didn't fall to the ground, but he noticed in that moment how truly frail she was. He would need to get her medical attention as soon as they left the cursed church.

"Anya?" the pirated asked tentatively, not wanting to somehow frighten or scar the girl even more. As a response, Anya gave a feeble "Mmmm?" _At least she can still hear me and understand me. At least it didn't drive her mad, _Killian thought to himself, trying to find the good in this. "Anya? Did you see a woman when you were...in the...when you became that other person, what happened? What did you see?" Killian wasn't totally sure how to phrase the question, but he hoped that he had gotten the basic idea across. Anya scrunched her face up in thought, before answering in a quiet and tired voice, "I was...I was in a...a cabin. There was...a woman...a woman..." her words faded into incomprehensibility after that and her eyes fluttered dangerously. "Anya, Anya try to stay awake, darling. Try to hold on for just a few more seconds." Killian pleaded with her, still holding her in his arms. She didn't respond. "Anya!" He gave her a gentle shake in his arms and she lifted her head groggily. "Anya, do you remember seeing an old woman during...when Lanoria was touching you?" he asked. It wasn't until after he said it that it might sound a little bit dirty. Anya, however, was too tired to notice. "I...yes...a woman. Yes. There...there was an...old...old woman. Sick...very sick. Green skin...wanted blood...my blood...don't let her take my blood!" Her words became more and more panicked as she spoke. Her last sentence was a whisper-shout, and she had dug her nails into the Killian's neck, as though she would be safe is she was causing him pain. _I'm evidently not going to get anything out of her_, Killian thought reluctantly_, she's gone through too much to think clearly._ Thus, he walked over to a wood bench and laid her down carefully, setting on top of her his jacket so that she might be comfortable. Then, he turned back to the queen. _  
_

"I can't give you a name, I can't give you a description I can't give you a proper location. But...I still want what was promised to me. I still want to have what Anita was searching for." he stated calmly and emotionlessly. Regina told him in no uncertain terms that she did not have it within her power to do so. Killian had expected as much. "Then, I'm taking the girl with me. She's a witch, she'll be able to help. " He gestured to Lanoria, who had made her way over to Anya once again and was dabbing carefully at her forehead with a wet towel. _Where did she find that?_ Killian thought to himself distractedly. He was too afraid to look Regina head on, as he was unsure whether her stare would turn him to stone or not. Her reaction to his audacious move, however, was rather unexpected. "Fine, fine. Take the girl, she's of no importance to me; I have my own powers. So long as you answer my question." _Just like that?_ Killian thought incredulously, _first she only asks of me a question and then she just hands me her slave?_ It was almost too good to be true. "So be it" he said. "Ask away, my queen." The woman shot a speculative glance towards Anya and Lanoria, who had not heard, or gave no indication if she did, the conversation where Regina traded her to Killian. Neither women were terribly distracted with what Killian and Regina were doing, which caused Regina to give a satisfied nod and turn back towards Killian. Just for good measure, however, she walked up to him and whispered her question quietly in his ear. She couldn't have her ex-slave hearing her.

And once he heard the question, Killian understood why. It was not a question concerning magic or power. It was not a question whose answer would be advantageous for her, give her a key piece of information to hold over someone's head. It was question whose answer would put her mind to rest, her conscience at ease. The question was only of emotional importance, and she had worked painstakingly hard to assume an impassive and icy air about her. She felt uncomfortable enough as it was surrendering that detached power to Killian, she couldn't stand to have two others witness her weakness. She _wouldn't _stand for it. And so, after she spoke the words to Killian, those tender, vulnerable words, and he gave his honest and sympathetic answer, she made sure to make a pointedly unimpassioned and apathetic comment. "Get your slut and the witch out of my church. I've got much to do today, can't have them mussing up my schedule." Normally, Killian would've been angry at that comment. He would've rebuked her, told her that Anya was no slut and she had no right to call her that, but today, he saw through it. He knew at that moment it was all an act to mask her inner susceptibility. She had proved that to him with her question, with the way that she had eagerly awaited his answer, and seemed relieved when he gave it. He saw her true nature in her words, in her posture. And as he walked out, carrying his feeble and tired Anya bridal style, with a witch names Lanoria lagging not far behind, he knew that he had won. And he smiled.

* * *

Killian asked the girl whether or not there was a healer in town, someone who might be able to cure Anya and restore her to full health. The woman told him that there was no such person, and if anyone got sick, they were sent to her. "Ah! You're a witch-doctor, then?" he asked conversationally. The woman gave a brief yet respectful nod. "Do you think you can help her?" he asked timidly. She gave a nother nod. Killian laughed to himself. _She reminds me of Anya when she first boarded my ship_. "Why are you laughing?" she asked quietly. Then, as though a voice in the back of her mind had viciously chastised her, she quickly apologized for her insubordination and promised that she would only talk when addressed. _Regina really broke her, didn't she? _he thought to himself. And it was true. Under the evil queen's dominance, Lanoria had known isolation and torture, in ways unimaginable to most. She had been forced to use her own magic to abuse herself, forced to watch her son die at the hands of Regina. Indeed, she had been broken time and time again, but each time she had forced herself to stand back up and glue the pieces together. Each and every time, all in the name of her husband. And now, she was being dragged away from even him, forced to sail away on a pirate ship, never to see her love again. Silent tears began streaming down her cheeks at the thought, and she was careful to stay behind the captain so that he might not see. If he did, he gave no indication.

"Are you sure you can help her?" Killian asked, completely oblivious to the emotional turmoil Lanoria was experiencing at that moment. "Are you even sure what's happening? She's getting very hot, I can _feel_ the heat radiating off her. And she's still shaking. Is that normal? Have you seen this before? Is she going to be alright?" The pirate kept spurting out ridiculous questions and comments, seemingly truly worried about the young princess he was carrying in his arms. Meanwhile, Lanoria was struggling to regain composure, trying to keep her voice in check so that it might not betray her. "The girl is going to be fine. She..." she drew in a pained breath, closed her eyes and continued, "She is just experiencing a small fever. It happens quite...quite often when one who is inexperienced with magic is suddenly exposed to it." Her words seemed to calm the captain down. "So, it'll pass soon, right? Just a fever, nothing more? She's not going to go...insane, is she?" he asked carefully. The question was so absurd, Lanoria laughed in spite herself. "Where would you get that idea from? This woman, this girl. She has great power inside of her, great strength. I can sense it. No matter the pain she has experienced today, she can take much more. She is a pure soul. One of the few left." Lanoria said, speaking truthfully. She had sensed when performing the spell something different within the girl. A remarkable bravery and fortitude unknown to must. "I know. I saw it in Anya the moment I met her." Killian agreed, looking dreamily down at the beautiful nun.


	10. Chapter 10

**Alright guys, here's the chapter! Sorry it took so long to get here, I think I might've mentioned that I made big plans for the extra long weekend. But I finally finished this and I hope you guys like it; we get a glimpse of Anya's past and meet a new character. So...give it a read and tell me what you think! Enjoy. ;)**

Anya was lying down on her new mattress that had been pilfered from the city, thankful for the minimal comfort it provided her body. She was hardly aware of it, however. In fact, she was hardly aware of anything. She knew there were two others in the room with her and she knew they were speaking but her mind was so hazy she hadn't any idea who they were or what they were saying. They were two dim shadows in the corner of her quarters, speaking a hushed and meaningless language. Occasionally one of them would approach her, put something on her forehead, lift her head up, force her to drink some water. They would whisper something soothing in her ear, but it was useless. Their language was foreign to her, their harsh dialect incomprehensible. Their faces, too, were strange. Bordering on the cusp of familiarity, and yet completely alien. It seemed to Anya that their names were on the tip of her tongue, their faces too familiar to forget. And yet, she had. She struggled to recall, tried to summon a memory to mind, but her head was too clouded and anything she managed to remember was vague and ambiguous. Nothing was clear or sensical, and the world itself seemed to be spinning. The two shadowy figures in the corner were suddenly rushing over to her, and she felt hands all over her body, touching, squeezing, tearing. She spasmed, trying desperately to get away from the villains, but she was weak, and subdued easily. One of them held her down while the other forced a vile, thick liquid into her mouth. Her muscles suddenly began to relax again, and she felt the world slowly disintegrate around her, as though it were made entirely of sand. Her mind became even more blurry, and whatever thoughts she might have had were scattered. Slowly, slowly she began to submit to the temptation of sleep, letting her eyes flutter closed and her pain dissapear. The reality around her was replaced with another, as the real world and dream world collided into one. Anya couldn't tell where one started and the other began, whether she was asleep or awake, but she didn't mind. As long as nothing hurt, she didn't mind.

* * *

"I must admit, her condition has been deteriorating at a much faster rate than I anticipated. This is more serious than anything I've ever seen related to magic." Lanoria was telling Killian regretfully, standing beside him at the foot of her bed. "Honestly, I'm worried." She knew those words were not the words that the captain wanted to hear, and were likely not the wisest words to be said, but Lanoria said them one way or another. Better to tell the truth now than lie and get beaten later. "We can't just let her die. What do we do? You must have a spell or potion or _something_ to help her." The man's voice was soft and delicate, the features on his face reminiscent of pity and worry. _A master in love with his slave?_ Lanoria thought incredulously._ No,__ it could never be. _And yet, there he was, wearing the unmistakable look of devotion and misery that only someone in love could know. _Perhaps they are lovers. Perhaps she bears his child, _she thought to herself. _Yes, that's it. He's concerned for his child inside of her. He doesn't truly care for her. No one could care for a slave. They- we -are objects. Nothing more, nothing less. _Lanoria's thoughts were dismal and frank, as she would not let herself be carried away by hope or emotion. She'd made that mistake before, and it was not one she intended to repeat. For as long as she lived, she wold never surrender herself completely to another human being as she had her husband, for when they were taken away from you, or you them, you find suddenly that you have no desire to continue your life. _Then why do I keep living? Why don't I thrust myself off this ship, why don't I embrace death? _she asked herself. _Because, no matter how hard you try to crush it, you will always have hope. You will always harbor in your heart some silly, small hope that you and Anson will be reunited, _a malicious voice whispered in the back of her head. _You will never be happy again, because you will never find him, but you will still torture yourself by continuing on with life. Silly, stupid Linny. You're nothing. You're worthless._

"Lanoria? Lanoria? Don't tell me you're coming down with something, too." The captain said, distressed. Lanoria shook herself from her thoughts, shifting her attention back to the situation at hand. "I'm sorry, my captain. My thoughts carried me away. I promise it will not happen again." she replied dutifully, respectfully. Just as she'd been taught. "I could care less about your little reverie, woman, just _please_ help me fix her. She's getting worse." However frantic and pitiful he sounded, he spoke the truth. Anya's skin had lost all its color, and was covered in a thick film of sweat. Her breaths were rapid yet shallow, and her pulse getting weaker by the minute. Now when they spoke to her, she wouldn't respond, and it appeared as though she didn't even understand what they were saying. And that was when she _was_ conscious, which was getting to be less and less often. At first, she would fall into a light sleep, and could be awakened with a small shaking or whisper in her ear. Now, though, she fell in and out of consciousness, and when her eyes were closed, there was nearly nothing that could wake her. Perhaps the most troublesome symptom of all, however, were her spontaneous spasms. She would suddenly begin shaking uncontrollably, whining or pouting and shaking her head violently as though she were afraid Killian and Lanoria were hurting her. It seemed she was losing grip of reality, forgetting places, names, faces. It could just mean that the sickness was taking an extreme toll on her, sucking all the energy from her mind and body so that she no power within her to think properly. It could also mean, however, that the magic that had coursed through her body, the magic that had transformed her into another person, was still in her, making her sick. It was not an unheard of occurrence, though quite rare. Every time Lanoria had witnessed it, it ended in a slow and torturous death for the victim. The woman did not care to share that bit of information with Killian, though.

"Yes, I admit, she's not getting any better." Anya said distantly. "That's a bit of an understatement, don't you think?" Killian said toxicly, getting frustrated with her lack of progress. If his princess- er, Anya -was going to get any better, they would have to act fast. He would do whatever was needed, but he had no idea what that might have been. "You're right. The girl's condition is troubling." Killian thought he might just shake Lanoria until she said something useful. "Would you stop repeating what I say and do something _useful_, woman!" he shouted at her. For some reason, his tone seemed to get her hopping. "Yes, of course, master." she replied quickly. "I'll need my caraway, it should be in my quarters at the queen's palace." she stated, finally working efficiently. Her words, however, seemed to frustrate Killian even further. "You couldn't have retrieved your things _at _the castle?" he asked disbelievingly. Lanoria, however, instead of answering him, held her hand out and summoned her herb box. Magically, it appeared in her hand. She opened it up, rifled through it and, when she found what she was looking for, took it out and ground it into dust with her hands, all the while taking pleasure in seeing Killian's shocked stare out of the corner of her eye. "Yes, captain?" she asked innocently, trying to pry open Anya's mouth. She was still sleeping.

"H-how did you do that?" he asked, voice curious and slightly fearful. "It's a basic summoning spell." she told him, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "I will something to come to me, and it does."

"Then why wouldn't you will yourself gold or, or..." he asked excitedly, mind abuzz. The things a pirate could do with that sort of power! "I'm a _good _witch, captain. A wiccan. My magic must be used for unselfish and harmless reasons. If I infringe upon that, I lose my powers." she replied. Killian deflated. "Bloody waste of magic, then." he mumbled to himself disappointedly. Lanoria giggled to herself. "Might I get back to the dilema at hand, captain?" she asked him, a foolish smile playing at her lips. "Please do." he replied seriously, the pleasure of the moment fading almost immediately after it had passed. His tone wiped the grin off her face and forced her to turn her attention back to Anya. "I've some ground up caraway here, and it should help with her fever. I just need her to swallow it." she told him. "I suggest we mix it with some water and have her drink it." At her words, Killian nodded solemnly and left the room. He came back quickly after with a chalice of water.

* * *

Anya awoke once again from her disturbing reverie, one in which Killian had been shouting at her to mop the deck, and no matter how furiously she scrubbed, he just kept yelling and yelling. The crew had all been watching, too, laughing at her with the faces of pigs and monsters. The girl, however, was so withdrawn from reality that she had not even acknowledged that she'd been asleep, or that she was now awake. Both worlds clashed together in her mind. There was no longer a barrier between them.

She could see vaguely one of the two shadows at the foot of her mattress approach her, saw that it was the man with the almost-familiar face. He stood directly above her, extended his hand towards her. She felt her head being lifted up and tasted a vile liquid being forced into her mouth. There was another slight muscle spasm, though it was quickly subdued by the second shadow, before she forced herself to swallow it. It left a dirty feeling in her mouth, a gritty texture on her tongue. She swore she could feel it traveling through her body, feel an incredible warmth wherever it was. It was in her throat, then her chest, and finally settled in her stomach. At that moment, the pain that was within her weakened, and her rigid muscles eased into a position of relative comfort. It was as if the liquid was a magic serum.

Anya sucked in a deep breath, relishing the fact that she did not feel poignant jabs of discomfort at doing it, and opened her mouth as if to say something. However, no words came out. She was trying to recall what she had wanted to say, and beyond that, _how_ to say it. She knew that at one point, she had been able to speak. Quite aptly, as well. But now, it was as if she were an infant, incapable of understanding, much less speaking, a language. The language the shadows spoke was dimly familiar, tickling the back of her mind. She could almost understand it, much like she could almost recognize the man's face. Almost, however, was the key word. Still Anya's mind remained clueless and inert, not able to process or comprehend the environment around her. No matter how desperately she tried to overcome it, exhaustion overwhelmed her and sickness engulfed her. She was seized again by the irrepressible hand of sleep and dreams, and it dragged her down slowly to its depths. She could for a while keep herself awake by shacking her head vigorously or pinching her arms and stomach, but eventually she succumbed.

* * *

Anya found herself being shaken awake by her servant, Victoria, who wore on her face a look of excitement and compassion. "Princess Anya, princess Anya? You must wake up! Your mother, she's gone into labor. Your brother or sister is being born as of now. You must wake up!" The young woman jumped eagerly out of her bed at Victoria's words, happier than she was sure she would ever be in her lifetime. Not only did this child mean that her family would grow, that she would have a sister or a brother to teach and love, but it meant that she could fulfill her dream. At long last, having another royal in the family meant that she could become what God had sent her to do on this Earth, what she was meant for. Unsurprisingly, the child's birth brought veritable delight to her.

She ran down the majestic steps and wound through the labyrinth-like walls of her father's great castle until she found at last her parent's room. She could hear from outside the door her mother screaming in pain and many a squeal from a green servant who had never before been exposed to the realities of childbirth. She banged obnoxiously on the door, as it was surely locked, until finally a young woman peeked skeptically out and set your eyes on her. "Anya, sweetling, why don't you come back after the child is born? You can wait with your father in the library." she said, speaking as though she were a child. The princess would not allow for that. "She's _my_ mother, I _will_ see her now." she said sternly. Seeing the determined twinkle in Anya's eye the servants had come to know and abhor, the woman groaned loudly in surrender. "Alright, come in. But you stay out of the way and don't say a word." Anya couldn't have been happier to hear those words.

The birthing process was long and laborious, and Anya could see why she had heard so many uneasy shouts from outside the door. Her mother's sex had spread to at least five times its normal size, and the thing emerging from it looked less human than a savage gorilla. It was unclear which body part was coming out first, and the whole shriveled body was covered in a thick layer of sticky slime. At some points, Anya could not bear to watch and turned her head away, sickened by the image. Her mother had meanwhile been yelling and screaming in pain the entire time, often clutching tightly onto the bed post or a servant. The birth seemed to Anya so long and so arduous and so agonizing that she began to wonder why on Earth any woman would subject herself to this kind of torture, but the moment the child, a boy who was named James, was cleaned and laid in her arms, she understood. She held in her hands the most vulnerable, purest being in all the universe. Something that relied entirely on its mother and father, on her. It's beautiful shining blue eyes, very similar to hers, took her breath away and the delicate yawn the child gave right before it fell asleep shattered Anya's heart. It was at that very moment, the moment where she could finally pursue her dreams and achieve them, that she began to question them, as has happened countless times to countless people. _If I take my vows and become a nun, then I shall never have a child of my own. I will never again experience the feeling of...this. Of holding a baby in my arms, a bundle of warmth and joy. No child will ever crawl or walk to me, call me mother for the first time, care for my in my old age. I will never have that, if I take my vows. _The thought weighted heavily on her, made her seriously reconsider her decision. The boy meant that she could devote herself to God, that she could give her life to the salvation of her people. There always needed to be a child in the family, someone who could carry on the royal bloodline. Her parents had had two children before Anya was born, one girl one boy, but both died during childbirt.h And until now, Anya had been the sole child to the king and queen, which meant that she would have to marry within the next year and assume the role of queen. But now that a brother had been born to her, she was finally relinquished from that archaic duty and free to pursue another, more holy one. _But do I _truly_ want that? Would I rather live a sacred, divine life with only God at my side, or one full of materialistic goods and sins, but with a husband and child to love me? _It was a dilemma she had wrestled with before, but now that she had held a child, felt the love she was capable of, it had taken on a much more real quality. How could she ever-_  
_

The man-shadow was stroking her cheek, speaking to her quietly in his secret language. Anya could not see the other shadow in her quarters, and assumed that she and the man-shadow were alone. His face was becoming clearer and clearer to her, and she felt a word on the tip of her tongue. The exhaustion she had felt the last time she was conscious had vanished almost entirely, and her mind was functioning more efficiently. She opened her mouth and reached for the man's face, placing her hand on his cheek. Closing her eyes, she summoned all her energy on this one task, concentrating intently on remembering. She saw that same man standing in front of her speaking to her, giving her orders. She felt his completely naked body pressed to hers, and a fear that shook her to her core. She heard a laugh, cocky and and boisterous and arrogant. And it was after she heard that laugh that the word came to her, the memories came flooding as vivid as day.

"K-Kil-Killi-Killian?" She felt his mouth twitch with her hand, and she knew that he was giving her his trademark self-assured smile.


	11. Chapter 11

**Alright, chapter 11 is complete! Again, I've added some back story to this, but we'll learn more about Killian and Anita instead of Anya. Also, the last paragraph of this leads into a scene where we'll discover a lot more about the characters, which will be in the next chapter. I would like to mention too that I can't _believe_ the show used Anita's name as Red's mother. First the King Leopold thing, and now they've got a character named Anita. Next, they'll introduce a new character named Anya...Complaints aside, before I get to the story, I would like to send a big THANK YOU to Nicole Hayley, who created the _incredible _new cover for this story, which you might have noticed, so applause, applause! Anyways, to the chapter...**

Anya's pale and cold palm was clutching Killian's cheeck as she whispered his name feebly, struggling to get the one word out. She was so fragile, and yet so beautiful in that moment. Her skin was whiter than a sheet, her face hollow and emotionless. Her hair was tangled and untamed, her eyes red and irritated. And yet, she was beautiful. Everything about her was so delicate and ethereal it made Killian's heart ache with the sheer artistry with which God had exercised in making her. It was as if she was a porcelain doll made by the most skilled toy maker in the lands. Killian wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms and whisper in her ear that it would all be alright, he would keep her safe. He would save her from whatever sickness had over taken her. But he contented himself with smiling.

Though her eyes were unfocused and staring right through him, it seemed to Killian that Anya knew he as smiling, that she had sensed it, as she too smiled slightly. It was an inconspicuous thing, so small and insubstantial that it was practically unnoticeable, but Killian still saw it; the slight tweak in her colorless lips. And that small tweak gave him hope. Hope that Anya was not lost, that she would survive. It gave him hope that she would go through this unscathed, and that she would remember everything about him and his crew. It gave him hope that if she lived, he could get to know her. He could grow closer to her, call her a friend one day. All because of one silly little tweak of the mouth. _What are you doing, Killian? _the pirate thought angrily to himself. _This girl is nothing. This girl is unimportant. What does it matter whether she lives or dies_? _She's my slave. Nothing more, nothing less. _And yet, he couldn't help but feel a connection to her, one more profound and important than that of a master to a slave. He felt inside himself something he had long thought was dead, something that he had buried with Milah. It was not full-on love; he hardly knew Anya. It was perhaps more of an infatuation, a curiosity. He saw in her an innocence and vulnerability he never thought was possible. He saw within her an honesty and virtue that made him want to improve himself. She made him what to be a _better_ man. _What do I care of being a better man? I sail the high seas, plunder and kill and rape. There'll be no path of virtue for me; it'll be straight to hell, _he told himself. He could never handle the idea of living his life justly, earning his money respectably. He had learned everything he knew from Anita, who had had no patience for honor or truth. Killian could still remember her chastising him for not stealing as she had instructed him to in the market place.

He had been a seven years old when she set him out for his first thievery. She'd told him to approach the apple cart, where there was the largest crowd of people, and pretend to trip. He was to grab the food cart to pull himself up, at the same time grabbing hold of an apple in each time. "Then, K" Anita had whispered sternly in his ear, "you run like Hell." He had been uneasy about doing it, wondering whether or not the merchant had a wife, children that he had to feed. He didn't dare voice his concerns to Anita; she would only give him a good spanking and tell him that nothing in life came by doing the 'right thing'. Taking as deep a breath as a seven year old boy could take, Killian walked over to the cart. Considering the fact that there were about a dozen adults thrusting money in the merchant's face and that Killian was about half their height, it was not hard have been hard. Killian had manged to pretend trip very well; no one had suspected a thing. There had been a few angry shouts from the woman whose feet he landed on, but other than that, Killian came out unscathed. It was the next part that would be challenging. Sighing deeply, Killian pulled himself up using the cart as leverage and quickly took two apples in his hands. He turned back to where Anita was, feeling uneasy. The man certainly had children, his age and worry lines revealed that much. And if he had a children, then chances were he had a wife as well. Killian knew that he would be okay without the apples, too. Anita always managed to find them dinner. Why should today be any different? Really, there was no harm in putting the apples back. At least now Killian knew that he _could_ do it, if the situation ever necessitated it. But now, neither he nor Anita were starving and it was best to leave the apples behind. Killian did so.

Anita stirred again, as if she were going to say something, and drew Killian from his memory for a moment. Her mouth hung open for a moment, no souond coming out of it, before Anya shut it again. She let her hand drop from the captain's jaw and brought it back under the covers. She closed her eyes again, even though she had not felt tired seconds before, and drifted off into a deep sleep. Killian chuckled at the girl's expression as she slept, one of excitement and shock. It was as if she was illustrating for him the dream she was having. It seemed to him that at that moment, she was either seeing God himself or...something else. Killian couldn't think of a witty comment. Instead, he let himself fall back into the day dream he'd been having...

He made his way over to Anita with head held low, not out of disappointing or shame, but for fear of what she might do. She seemed to notice his posture, but still asked him flatly, "Where are the apples?" The young boy shook his hand and answered in a reserved voice, "I don't have them." She had bit her lip at those words, the tell she had right before she exploded. Killian noticed it and his eyes widened in apprehension. "Look, I'm sorry, but it's not like we're_ starving_ or anything and I'll bet that man had kids...and...and a...family..." The cold, hard stare his sister was giving him made Killian want to shrivel up and hide under a rock. His mouth went dry when he saw that stare, and knew that whatever he said, it would not help him. He just hoped that the punishment would not be too cruel. However, as Killian knew all too well, if hopes were dreams, wishes would fly.

Anita was dragging him through the street by his hair, him screaming and kicking in protest the entire time. She did not yield, though, she never did. Instead, she drug him into an abandoned building she had found in an alley, and threw him down. "What do you _think _you were doing, you little shit?" she yelled at him, voice shaking with anger. Killian backed slowly away on the ground, trying to do anything that might calm her down. "I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm stupid. You were right, I should've taken the apple." Anita only laughed condescendingly, crossing her arms and shaking her head. "I know all this, idiot. What I'm _asking_ is why you didn't do it. What possessed you to disobey _me?_" Her words were dangerously low and dripping with insanity. "I...I...didn't think...it was...was...fair to...take that...man...man's...apples." he started, voice stuttering. "We're...we're...not starving...so I...though...why should...I...I...steal?" he told her. She was listening with faux interest, nodding as though it all made sense. "Oh, well if _that's _why you did it, I suppose it's okay, little brother." she said, her voice kind and silky. Killian knew better than to trust her, though. He knew she was being sarcastic. He knew she was degrading him. This was the calm before the storm. And he was certain this particular storm was going to be a savage one. "Do you know _why _we're not starving, K?" she asked in a scornful tone. Killian shook his head; he honestly had no idea where Anita got the food he ate. "I work every _single_ night in the brothel, K." she told him, keeping her calm. "Do you know what a brothel is?" she asked. He nodded his head. "I work there _every_ night, getting men's cocks shoved up me and their sweat all over me. I have to pretend to _love_ it, little brother. I have to kiss their asses and suck on them every single night to bring you home your food." Her eyes were getting wider and wider with every word now, and Killian knew the eye of the storm would soon expose itself. "I have to get _fucked_ every night because _you_ want your bread, because _you_ want your apples and your treats and _your_ food and toys." she yelled, positively fuming. She was slowly approaching him, taking small dangerous steps towards him. "And I ask you _once_ to get your own food, to steal two _measly_ apples and you're too much of a _pussy_ to do it!" She was stomping her foot on the ground, and shaking, her emotions getting to be too much. "Fuck you, K! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! You can _starve _ for all I care. _Starve, _little brother, _starve!_" she yelled, picking him up by the shirt. A tear had escaped his eye. "Is the baby _crying_? Is the baby fucking _crying?" _Anita yelled incredulously. "I'll give you something to cry about!" she shouted, smacking him across the face. The force threw him to the ground and he bit back a cry of pain as he could taste within his mouth his own coppery blood. "You know nothing. You know nothing of hardships, of pain! You know nothing of _starving, _Killian. Nothing!" His sister was blinking back pained tears, refusing to let him see her as the weak one. Anita always had to be the one in power, the one in control. She never had anyone to confide in and didn't trust anyone enough to let them see how truly tortured she was, not even Killian. "I'm done protecting you, I'm done taking all the _shit_ I take in the brothels for your ungrateful ass! I'll let you go hungry, I'll let you starve, and _then_ stealing won't seem as bad, _then_ you'll understand, K!" Her voice had cracked and she spun on her heels, racing out of the shack. Killian crawled into the corner, hugging his small legs to his chest and began to cry. He did not know how long he was in there, how long his sobs ravaged his body and his tears streamed down his face, he only knew that by the time it was done it was dark outside and his eyes stung with a vengeance. He worried shortly if his sister had truly abandoned him, if she had truly meant what she said, but when he returned to their hiding place, their home, a small bowl of soup and a piece of bread was laid out for him, still warm. Anita might be cruel, but she did care for Killian.

The present day captain shivered at the memory of his broken seven-year-old self, still hearing his sister's sorrowful shouts of how he knew nothing, still feeling the sting of his cheek after she had struck him. She had only been about fourteen, maybe fifteen at the time, but she certainly had power within her. Working on the streets, she had had to have it, else she would have been dead within a fortnight. And as Killian thought of his sister, of the sacrifices she had made to protect him, he felt the familiar painful knot in the pit of his stomach, a mixture of regret and pain and sadness. It was something he had experienced many a time after Anita's death, something he had forced himself to suppress and forget. He would drown it in ale or whisky, or lose it in the heat of a woman. But now, sitting next to his unconscious princess, having no alcohol or...other suppressants...it came back to him full throttle, filled with anger and bitterness for being buried for so long. "I'm sorry, Anita." he whispered quietly to himself, "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you as you did me. I'm sorry I couldn't save you." The image of two royal guards dragging his fighting sister to the gallows flashed in front of his eyes. There was a crowd around him, all eager to see the 'disgusting pirate' get sent directly to Hell. All of them wore excited smirks while a few were bold enough to cheer. Normally, Killian would have gone directly over to them and given them a piece of his fist-er, mind-but today, he found that he could not even move. He was going to witness his sister die, and he was doing nothing about it. True, he had promised her he would do as much. He had promised her that he would not risk his own safety for her, but that did not mean that would do it happily. He gritted his teeth as he saw them shove her to her knees and bound her hands behind her back. Helplessly, he stared up at the shining blade that hung directly over her head. He looked directly at Anita, stared into her beautiful brown eyes, watching the scene unravel. And as the executioner cut the rope, and the blade came tumbling down, he swore that Anita saw him too. Amongst the hundreds of thousand of people gathered in the square, all staring at Anita, Killian swore that his sister had seen him, and that right before she died, her mouth twitched into an apologetic smile. He swore it.

"Captain? Captain Killian? Wake up, sir! Wake up." Lanoria was gently shaking Killian's shoulder, leaning over him concernedly. His eyes opened up and he gave his surroundings a confused glance. He had fallen asleep while watching over Anya. "Are you quite alright, captain?" the woman asked. He gave a groggy nod and straightened himself in his chair. The woman smiled delicately and turned to the beautiful blue eyed princess who was asleep in the bed. "Has she gotten any better?" she asked hopefully, dabbing at her forehead with a moist towel. Killian nodded. "She is. She opened her eyes a little while ago, said my name. I think she recognizes me." he told her. The woman nodded again, forming a cross on Anya's forehead with her finger and a white powder. "That's good, it means she's coming to her senses." Lanoria said softly. Killian only responded with a grunt. "You look dreadful, captain. You havn't slept in a good long while. Why don't you go take a rest in your quarters? I'll look after the girl for a while." However much Killian disliked the idea of leaving Anya alone, he did have to admit that he was exhausted. Giving Lanoria a grateful smile and Anya an optimistic pat on the shoulder, he left the small room.

Lanoria continued her work diligently, forcing Anya to swallow the mixture of caraway and water whenever she came to, watching over her when she was asleep. She had to admit that the child was a beautiful specimen, even with her sickly state. And it was clear that the captain felt some affection for her, however much he tried to hide it. The idea seemed impossible, wrong, almost. The idea that a master could be in love with his slave. It was something unheard of, something frowned upon. And yet, there was an undeniable sense of longing in the captain's eyes whenever he looked at Anya, a need to protect her from the disease that was ravaging her body. Lanoria wished futilely that someone would look at her that way again, that she could be reconnected with her beloved Anson so that they might live their days loving each other and relishing each other's company. She could continue her work as a witch doctor, providing care for the peasants in town. He could find a job in the town, as well, as a blacksmith's talents were never overlooked. She wished that she could be happy again. She wished.

It was nightfall when the captain returned to Anya's quarters, insisting that Lanoria get some rest too. The woman nodded politely and dismissed herself, leaving Killian alone with Anya once again. In the brief four hours that Lanoria had been with Anya, she had worked miracles. Her cheeks had regained some of their natural pink and she no longer felt like she had just dove into the arctic ocean. Her breaths were deeper and steadier, instead of shallow and sporadic. Her chest raised and lowered at rhythmic intervals; it seemed to Killian than she was just a healthy girl sleeping in her bed.

* * *

Anya had just taken her vows, been accepted as a sister into the monastery. She had sat a puerile and verdant child, and risen a mature and holy nun. And then, she was a bed made of straw, with the ground underneath her shifting uncertainly. Beside her was Killian, whose face and name she remembered readily. She smiled briefly, remembering the sweetness of her dream, and raised her hand drowsily to grab his. He seemed at first surprised by her uncharacteristic boldness, as he flinched away, but after he realized what she was doing, he gave her hand a delicate squeeze. She smiled at this. "Killian" she whispered sleepily. "Anya" he responded mockingly, his childish grin playing at his lips. "I'm cold" she told him innocently, looking up at his face. Quickly, he got up and pulled a pile of blankets out of nowhere. Leaning close to her bed, he piled them all on top of her. Anya, however, just shook her head as a response. "I'm still cold. Come lie with me. Pl...please?" A shiver ran through her spine and caused her to begin softly chattering her teeth. Sighing, Killian lifted the covers up and crawled in the bed behind her, his chest flat with her back. Anya smiled contentedly, feeling warm and thankful and...loved.

**So...next chapter there's going to be the rest of this scene, with Killian and Anya talking about their pasts, so look forward to that. Also, don't forget to review my lovelies! -Airel**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12 is finally done! I feel like it might be a little awkward writing-wise, but I think I'll still publish it because I can't think of how to fix it. Also, as I mentioned in the last chapter, I have published another Hook fic (I can't post the link, but it's called Revenge was Sweet by me). I've only published one chapter so far but I think I might want to continue it. I, however, am a _terrible _multitasker and prefer to really focus on things when I do them. So, my updates for this story may or may not (but probably will) become more infrequent, with new chapters coming out maybe 3 or 4 days apart. I definitely won't be stopping this story, and will have to see where my mind takes me for the other story, but for now, you should probably not expect another update until the weekend.**

**And after that very long introduction, here's the chapter...**

The two laid there in silence for what seemed an eternity, their thoughts consuming them. Killian could feel Anya's icy cold skin against his own, hear every one of her soft breaths. Occasionally she would shiver in his arms, and he would tighten his grip around her waist and pull her even closer to him. The moment was so tender, so perfect, that he wanted it to last forever. Alas, it was impossible; the nun's soft and curious voice broke the silence. "Captain, what was your sister like?" The question took Killian completely off guard. The girl had never before shown an interest in his past life or relationships, and was rarely daring enough to ask him something so personal. He figured, though, that if Anya was to be a slave for the rest of her life because he wanted revenge for Anita, she at least ought to know a little bit about her. "She was..." he thought hard about Anita, tried to express the feelings that she evoked in him with words, "strong." I was a simple, common word, but he it was the one that he thought truly captured his sister. "In what ways? I mean, what did she do that made her..._strong_?" Anya asked, her voice still hoarse and small. Killian sighed, biting his lip.

"She...was brave. She would never let anyone take advantage of her, anyone hurt her. She didn't love many, but those she did love...she protected."

"Like you?"

"Hmmmmm?"

"I mean, she loved you. She protected you. Right?" Anya asked innocently. Killian chuckled lightly, and Anya could feel his chest shaking against her. "Yes, she did." His princess smiled to herself. "She sounds wonderful." Killian gave Anya a sad look. "That's not _exactly_ the word I woud use."

"Oh?"

"She...she was not always the best...person to be around." he said carefully, not wanting to scare Anya with the gruesome tale of his past. "What do you mean?" The captain thought briefly of how much he wanted to tell Anya, of how much he _dared_ tell her. He didn't want to insult his sister's memory, but he felt that he needed to tell someone his true story. He wanted someone in the world to understand why he was the way he was, what had forced a little boy to become the deceiving, thieving pirate he was today. He had never before trusted someone enough to even want to tell them such intimate things, share with them memories that were almost too hard for him to face. But, with Anya, he felt safer. Not safe, but safer. He felt like he could confide in her. "I mean...she was almost _too_ strong to be to love. She would push people away, force them to do her bidding. She was a master of manipulation. She made everyone around her feel as though they were inferior, as though they were worthless. She-" Killian didn't want to go on. He had already said to much. He was sure that Anya would use the information he had just given her to her advantage, manipulate it somehow to destroy him. He had just shared with her his biggest weakness-his sister. Perhaps she had not seen how much it hurt him to recall Anita, perhaps she had not heard the pain in his voice when he spoke, but if she had, Killian was sure that he was done for.

Anya shifted in the bed, turning her body so that she stared directly into Killian's eyes. On her face she wore a compassionate expression, her eyes full of understanding and pity. "You're _not _worthless." Killian gave her a tight smile, trying to hide how much that sentence had meant to him. _You're not worthless. _What was the girl playing at? What was she trying to do to him? "You're _brave_." she whispered sincerely. "Far braver than ever I could be." Again, Killian tried to dismiss her words with a small smile. For good measure, he forced a chuckle, too. "What you interpret as bravery Anya," he said, tapping her nose with his finger, causing her to scrunch it up and giggle, "most interpret as stupidity." Again, Anya's voice took on a serious and sincere tone, "_I _don't think you're stupid, captain. In fact, you're one of the smartest men I've ever met." At her words, Killian could hear distantly in his head Anita yelling. "You're so stupid, K! You're a stupid, worthless excuse for a human being and you sure as _hell_ don't deserve to live. I don't know _why_ I keep you around, you're just a big burden. One day, Killian, I'm gonna leave you to die, and you'll be too _stupid_ to figure out what to do." The voice was getting louder and louder in his head, and Killian was trying desperately to force the disturbing memory from his mind, focusing on anything else. "Of- of all the men you've _ever_ met, _I'm _the smartest?" he asked amusedly, his voice only faltering slightly. He had had his confident, swaggering act down to a tee before he was even twelve years old. "I didn't say you were _the _smartest, I said you were _one _of the smartest. Let's not get ahead of ourselves, captain." she told him, a girlish smile on her lips. The reserve her voice had harboring at the beginning of the conversation was lost, and he could feel that some of the tension in her body was melting away. She felt comfortable with him. "But you admit, I'm smart?" Killian said, prodding her gently in the arm. She giggled and looked sheepishly down at her hands, which were still under the covers. She didn't give Killian a further response than that, and he didn't want one. He only rolled on to his back, his right arm still hugging Anya to his chest.

"Can I ask you something else, captain?" Anya asked gingerly. Killian had only to look at her face to know that he would certainly not like the words that followed, but he allowed her to say them anyways. "What do you think my father did to your sister?" The question was one that she had pondered over and over, wondering whether or not the accusations Killian had leveled against Leopold when he had captured her were true. When the pirate did not immediately respond, though, Anya quickly dismissed her question, assuring him that he needn't answer it and it was folly for her to have even asked in the first place. He still did not respond. "I'm sorry if I've offended you, captain. It was something between you and my father, nothing of my conc-" Anya was interrupted in her fearful apology, however, with Killian's abrupt explanation. "He killed Anita." Those three simple words were filled with so much bitterness and hatred, so much anger and pain, that in that moment, Anya could hardly understand how the man could ever have seemed happy to her. There was so much ovewhwelming emotion, emotion she had never even witnessed, much less experienced. She didn't dare prod for more, didn't dare force the man to resurface memories and feelings that painful, but, for some inexplicable reason, he continued. "He killed Anita unjustly. He took he life in cold blood, without even caring enough to listen to her. She was innocent. I _know_ she was. Whatever he said, she was _innocent_." Anya swore for a moment that she saw in Killian's eye a tear, shimmering in the feeble light. But, quick as a blink, it was gone. "I'm so sorry, Killian." she said, her voice full of sincere sorrow. "I'm sure my father didn't know-"

"_Don't make excuses for him!"_ Killian said disgustedly. "He doesn't deserve them. He doesn't deserve anything. Not happiness, not a wife, not _you_..." Despite his biting words, despite the insults and accusations Killian was throwing at her father, Anya didn't contradict him. She didn't deny that her father was a lonely, selfish man. She didn't deny that her father deserved to die a thousand deaths and burn in Hell afterwards. She didn't deny anything Killian said about him, for she knew that if she did, it would summon a rage or sorrow to Killian more painful than anything in the world. She did not want to see the man hurt anymore than he already was. When so many others had refused to accept what was right in front of them, that Killian needed support and help, Anya saw the truth. She knew that Killian needed somebody to stand beside him, somebody to care for him as his sister had. He needed love. And it was because of this realization, this daunting awareness and comprehension of the man that was lying next to her, that Anya did something she might never have dared none. She kissed him. It was brief yet tender, chaste, meant more to be a message of support and care than an act of seduction. Anya told herself that it was wrong, that she was betraying herself and God, but then why did it feel so _right_? His soft, wet lips against hers, the way his arm felt around her waist, even just for that fleeting, transient moment, everything felt okay. She felt safe and protected, as though nothing and no one in the world could hurt her.

Anya's brief excitement, however, was stifled when she saw Killian's eyes, wide with undecipherable emotion. Her breath hitched in her throat and she paused in her position, face inches from Killian's. Neither said a word, just laid there staring into each other's eyes, searching for clues as to what the other was thinking. For a long moment, nothing could be heard but their uneven breathing, notched and heavy. Finally, when she felt she could take no more of the silent and stiff communication, Anya turned to lay back down on the bed, cheeks heating ashamedly. Before her back hit the mattress, however, she felt a strong arm catch her and pull her back to Killian's chest. Another hand ran through her hair, sending titillating shivers up and down her spine. She felt Killian pull her face gruffly towards his own, felt her delicate lips clash with Killian's rough ones. The kiss was no longer modest and refined, but needy and passionate. Both parties were savage and vehement in their manner, hands gripping each other deprivedly. Killian's were traveling up and down Anya's small body, trying to capture the feel of her. Meanwhile, Anya's hands were placed on each of Kilian's cheeks as she tried desperately to keep up with his needy kisses. Occasionally, she would retract from him, gasping for air, but Killian would always pull her back to him. The two had become quite heated, their bodies beginning to warm with the friction between them, before Anya placed a cold hand on Killian's chest. He looked up at her confusedly, wondering if he'd done something wrong.

"I can't do this. Not now, not here." she whispered apprehensively, as though she feared Killian would be angry. He only stared at her with lust in his eyes, pushing behind her ear a fallen lock of her silky brown hair. "Do what, Anya?" he asked. The girl didn't seem to know how to answer him, as she just shook her head. "Do...this. Us. _You_. I dedicated my life to something; I can't just go turn my back on it now." she told him. "That's no way to live your life Anya. Hell, you won't even be _living_ your life if you abide by those vows you took. You'll be shutting out all the possibilities you could have for sex, for family, for _love_." Killian insisted, begging her with his eyes to understand what he was saying. "I _promised_, I _vowed. _If I go back on that now, then what will I have left?" she asked him, fearful of the answer. "You'll have me." Killian stated simply, bringing her back to him. At first she resisted mildly, batting her small fist against his chest, but eventually she submitted, melting into his arms as if he were her sun. For a long time, they just kissed, content with the feeling of their bodies against each others, their lips interlocked. But as each became more and more flushed, more agitated, their bodies needing friction. Gently, slowly, Killian pulled the sleeve of Anya's dress off her shoulder, kissing it tenderly. Her breath hitched in her throat again as she ran her hand through Killian's hair. He continued undressing her, unbuttoning her dress slowly, staring intensely into Anya's eyes as he did it. She gave a nervous giggle, and he smiled reassuringly back to her, flipping her over so that her back was on the bed and he was lying on top of her. Anya let out a small whimper as he did so, and he placed a short, fragile kiss on her cheek, working the buttons adeptly the entire time. When finally he was done, Killian lifted Anya up and pulled the sleeves off of her, leaving her bare from the waist higher. He looked hungrily down at her chest, and then back up to her face, which was plastered with an expression of uncertainty and worry, as though she feared she would not be adequate for him. Killian only laughed lightheartedly and stroked her cheek, letting her wrestle out of the bottom of the dress herself. Before he could look down, however, she caught him quickly in a long and passionate kiss, almost as if she was trying to distract him so that he would not see her. Then, again, she probably was. "Are you going to-?" Anya asked embarassedly once they had broken their embrace, gesturing to his still-clothed body. "Of course I am, love." he answered her, lifting his tunic over his head. Anya stared fleetingly at his taught stomach and chest, allowing herself to be momentarily impressed with the beauty of him. "Enjoying the view?" he asked amusedly, noticing Anya's intense gaze at his naked self. She looked up at him like she was a deer caught in the headlights, then looking embarassedly down at her folded hands, which were quite conveniently folded in her lap so that no one from Killian's angle might be able to see...it. Killian took her bashfulness as a compliment, and smiled inwardly to himself. He tried his hardest to control himself so that he wouldn't laugh; that would destroy what little confidence Anya had. _She's so beautiful in this light, _Killian thought, staring at Anya, _She's beautiful in _any_ light. _He decided to tell her as much. Lifting her chin up so that she would stare into his eyes, he whispered seductively in her ear, "You're beautiful, Anya. You're gorgeous." She looked to him gratefully, cracked a smile and brought him into yet another passionate and sensual kiss. Killian reacted readily, pulling her to him, wrapping her legs around his waist. However, after a few moments of idle kissing, Killian realized that Anya would likely not initiate anything; she was still too virginal in the ways of men.

He shifted on the bed, careful to not break the kiss, and laid Anya flat on her back, following her quickly. Surprisingly, his heart was beating rapidly in his chest and he was sweating nervously, as though it was his first time seducing a maiden. It wasn't even the first time seducing _this_ maiden. _If you can count what I did that first time as seducing_, he thought offhandedly to himself. _Best to think of that...unfortunate...encounter, though. Focus on the present, not the past_. Killian certainly found no difficulty in that. The young woman squirming anxiously under him was stunning, possessing a god-like beauty and innocence. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to love her body, to hold her in his arms and call her his own. He wanted nothing more than to be able to call someone 'love' and actually mean it, to feel understood and cared for as he had years ago with Anita. "Is something wrong, Kill-capt- Is something wrong?" Anya asked curiously, not quite sure how to address the man lying on top of her. Killian shook himself from his thoughts, regarding Anya. "Of course not, love. And call me Killian. I do believe we've established that much." he told her kindly, shifting his position above her. He gave Anya one last questioning look, as if to ask, 'are you sure'? Anya answered his unspoken question with a small nod, placing each of her hands on either of his shoulders and clutching tightly. She stiffened her body and closed her eyes, holding in a breath as though she was preparing for something to hit her. "Try to relax, Anya. Otherwise it will make it uncomfortable for you." Killian whispered in her ear, stroking her side soothingly to calm her. "Just relax. Relax." She let out the breath she had held in and let her body lie limp in the bed, allowing Killian complete control. _  
_

Placing one last gentle kiss on her collarbone, Killian thrust into her, evoking a sharp gasp from the girl. She immediately dug her nails into Killian's back and tightened her grip on him, seeking strength. He hushed her quietly, stroking her hair lovingly. "Keep going, Killian. I-I want to." she told him. He nodded, and thrust again into the young girl. This time she stiffled her gasp, but still kept her powerful grip on Killian's back. Again, Kililan thrust into Anya, and again, and again, until he was groaning in ecstasy and she was moaning. The pain she felt had receded, and was replaced with a bliss and longing unknown to her. She felt warm and wet, the friction Killian was causing inspiringpleasure she would never have imagined in the convent. She felt something deep inside her building up, and saw in Killian's eyes the same. They were building up to something, some spiritual zenith or peak. And they were nearing it. Their thrusts, their shouts of delight were culminating towards a single, heavenly moment. Killian began pumping faster, no longer fearing that he was hurting Anya, no longer fearing that he was scaring her. He knew that she loved it just as much as he did, wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Her gasps were like music to his ears, a thousand angels singing to him. He loved that he drove her to this, that she had come to him chaste and innocent in the ways of love, and they were now sharing the same bed, the same body. He had pictured her like this many a time in his dreams, writhing under him and squealing his name, but to be able to truly feel her soft body and to hear her voice, it drove him over the edge. And apparently, it drove her over the edge too. Her screams had been increasing in volume and intensity, until now, when she let out one long, loud, euphoric shout, reaching her climax. Killian soon followed, but smothered his shout in the crook of Anya's neck, spilling his seed into her.

After Killian's heart had settled back into its rhythmic pattern and he was able to control his body once again, he rolled to the side of the mattress and pulled Anya close to him. Neither he nor she said a word, only relished the feeling of each other's bodies until they fell asleep, both with smiles on their faces.


	13. Chapter 13

**Alright, I've written an extra-long chapter for you guys because: A) this chapter just did _not_ want to end and B)I'm going to be leaving for California in a few days (it's one holiday trip after another these days) and there will only be one chapter after this until I go on a forced hiatus. So, I've written this for you all in hopes that you might forgive me. In the next chapter, there's going to be the escape, so you guys can look forward to that, I suppose (you'll understand what I mean after this chapter). Also, I would like to mention that I appreciate each and every one of my wonderful reviews, they make my day, so please feel free to continue giving me feedback! On to the story...**

Anya awoke with to an empty bed, with her blankets and dress kicked to her ankles. She was shivering uncontrollably but noticed through the small porthole in her quarters that it was day; rays of sunlight were shining directly into her eyes. Sighing, she stood weakly, pulling her- or rather, Anita's dress- over her head. She took a moment to examine herself in her mirror, which had also been pilfered from Regina's city, trying to find changes in herself. Her face was just as youthful as it had been yesterday, her eyes just as blue. She was the same short height she had been since age twelve, and when she spoke, it was with the dreamy and soft voice she had possessed her entire life. It seemed that nothing had evolved. _But in truth, everything has, _Anya thought helplessly to herself. She did not regret her actions, she couldn't find it within herself for an inexplicable reason to want to forget the experience, but she wasn't proud of it either. The act meant so many things, things she did not want to fathom. It meant that she had truly diverged from her original self; she was no longer the silly girl Killian had stolen from her father and her castle. She was no longer a virgin, yes, but it was more than that. She was no longer a girl, no longer a pure soul. She was no longer a...nun. _Though I suppose those things were true when Killian first did...that...to me, _she thought. _But what does this mean for me and Killian...for us? _The question was one she had wrestled with the night before, as she had fallen asleep in Killian's strong, protective arms. They were lovers, that much was clearly true, but what else did it mean anything else, anything beyond that? Inside, Anya admitted to herself that she hoped so. She wanted to be Killian's girl, his woman. She wanted him to love her and only her, both physically and spiritually. She could not imagine him over another girl, making love to her as Killian had to Anya only hours prior. She _would_ not. But Killian was pirate, a _captain_. They lived for sex and money, didn't they? How would one innocent convent girl satisfy his needs? How _could_ she? _I'm nothing, _Anya thought pitifully to herself, still starniig into the mirror, _I'm nothing to him. I was a pleasurable night and that's it. __I gave up everything I believed in, everything I had hoped and longed to be my entire life so that he could have a fu-_ Anya could not get herself to say the word, not even in her mind. _So that he could have a...girl..._ It sounded strange, but then again there was no one to hear but Anya. No one to care but Anya.

Just then, the princess heard a light knocking on the door, and a woman's voice saying, "Linens, Anya. Open your door." Anya abided by the voice, which belonged to the only other woman on the boat: Lanoria. Anya still wasn't positive why Killian had taken her on his ship, did he hope that she would help him find Anita? It didn't seem like she had done much as of late; she had only helped Anya recover from her illness. And now she was doing the rounds, but the ship didn't need another person to do that. Lanoria served some special purpose, Anya was sure, but she didn't know what. And she didn't care to find out. "Thank you, Lanoria." she said kindly, taking the sheets from the woman's hands. Linny, as Anya had heard some refer to her, gave a curt nod and turned quickly away, rubbing at her eyes. "Are you alright?" Anya asked worriedly, pulling her back to the doorway. "Quite alright, thank you." Lanoria responded, trying again to get away from Anya. The princess could see that the witch doctor's eyes were red and her face swollen, as though she had been crying. "No, you're not. Come in here. Tell me what's wrong." Anya said, followed by a thankful smile from Lanoria. "Go sit down on the bed." she said, pulling her inside the room and closing the door. If the captain had not come searching for Anya yet, it probably mean that he didn't need her. "Thank you, Anya. You're very kind." Lanoria said as she sat down on the faded mattress. When she felt it, her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Is something wrong?" Anya asked confusedly. She couldn't figure out why the woman seemed so shocked. "It's just that this is a...very comfortable bed, Anya. Much better than my own." Anya gave a small laugh. "Trust me, it took _months_ until I was allowed to have such a luxury. My first mattress was just a bunch of hay shoved into a pile. The rest of the room was awful, too. It smelled of livestock and dung. I couldn't get over it. Now, though, nothing seems as bad. It gets a lot better." she said. Her words were not as comforting as she had hoped, however, as Lanoria burst into a spasm of fitful sobs. Anya was so taken aback she hadn't any idea what to do and stood before her stupidly for a good long while. When finally she collected her thoughts and processed the scene in front of her, she was quick to sit down next to the crying woman and begin rubbing her back. "Shhhhh, shhhhh. It's okay. I _promise_ you it gets better. Once you get pas the homesickness-" Anya realized abruptly that she had not thought about her father in a very long time. It was a daunting realization. "Once you get past the homesickness, nothing seems as bad as it did at first. I swear; believe me."

"I can't! I can't get over it. Nothing..." the woman succumbed to yet another violent sob before continuing, "Nothing...can make it better. I need...I need my husband...and I want...I want to see...my boy again...my boy. Damien! Damien!" she cried, as though the boy Damien were just in front of her. Anya continued to rub her back soothingly and whisper calming words into her ear. "I'm sorry. It must be impossible to be torn away from your son." she said understandingly "I wasn't torn away! That bitch...that awful...bitch Regina...killed him...to get me...to use my...magic to...hurt you! I needed to feel...extreme sorrow...to summon enough magic...and she...killed him in...front of me! Now all I have...all I had...left was my...husband. And...he's..._gone_!" she stuttered, tears streaming down her face like a cascade of pain. With each and every word she spoke, Anya become more and more horrified. She could not believe the cruelty this woman had been subjected to. And with ever word, Anya became more and more determined to fix it; to right the wrongs that had been commited against Lanoria. She may no longer be a chaste and pure nun, but there was still the seed of goodness and truth in her, and it was thanks to that seed that she spoke next. "I promise you, Lanoria, that I will get you back to your husband. No matter what, I'll get you back to him." Her voice held a conclusive determination, an unwaning perseverance. Perhaps it was because Lanoria heard this that she believed Anya, or perhaps it was because she wanted so _badly_ to believe her, that she did. She nodded weakly, crying now out of joy than out of sorrow, and embraced Anya tightly. The princess giggled surprisedly before returning the hug. They remained like that for a long while, only separating to make plans for Lanoria's escape from the pirate ship. It would be no easy task, and would require the wits and skills of both women, but it was possible. And possible was all they needed.

Anya had still not emerged from her quarters, and Killian was becoming worried. _Not worried,_ he told himself. _Troubled, distraught, but not worried._ The man could not bring himself to a admitting that he had true feelings for Anya, feelings which would put him in a position of inferiority. For the first time in a long time, someone would have power over him, he would not longer be in control. And that was not something he wanted to experience again, being at the mercy of another person. He had enough scars as it was, enough external and internal wounds. He did not need to add the pain of Anya's betrayal to them, for he was sure that if he would give the girl his heart, she would abandon him. The ones he loved always did. _Isn't that right, mother? _he thought bitterly. The prospect that she still lived, that Anita had found her, was something Killian did not want to fathom, for more reasons that one. The most important being that it meant all his years of suffering, and Anita's years of torture had been for naught. Their parents had still lived, it had been a _choice_ for them to not return to their children, to not seek them out. His childhood had been stolen from him because his own mother had not bothered to raise him properly. Certainly not something he wanted to discern on a morning like this.

_That blasted girl might never come out of her quarters!_ he thought frustratedly, pacing nervously on the deck. Did Anya _regret_ what she had done last night- what _they_ had done last night? _Of course she regrets it, you idiot! You're a pirate, she's a nun. She could never love you. She will never love you. She's probably in there right now praying to her idiotic God to forgive her for her disgusting _fucking_ sins, _a dark and malicious voice whispered in Killian's head. _She's probably saying, 'dear lord, I'm so very sorry that I let that pirate take a poke, I don't know what I was thinking. It wasn't even fun; his dick was small and it hurt like fucking hell. Amen'. _The princess was likely crying in her chambers right now, wishing that she could take back last night. That she could forget all about Captain Killian and his crew. The thought got Killian so riled up, so angry and saddened all at once that he kicked one of the sail poles as hard as he could, leaving a small indentation in the wood.

"You alright there, cap'n?" Smee asked concernedly. He and a few other men were gathered around a table playing god knows what idiotioc card game. "Fine, Smee." the man responded through gritted teeth, seething with anger at himself and frustration with his throbbing foot. "I'm just fine." But the truth was, he wasn't.

* * *

"Let's go over this again." Lanoria said as she scrunched her face up in confusion. Anya sighed playfully, shaking her head and giggling at the woman. She was not the brightest of all servants, far from it, but Anya didn't mind. She had worked with small children at the convent with their school work, and had developed a considerable patience. "Alright. I know for a fact that we are our next port will be here," she pointed to small dot on the map she had spread across her bed, stolen from Killian's obnoxious collection. "I think we'll be arriving within the next two or three days" Anya said factually, turning to Lanoria. The woman nodded. "The men usually go out to plunder, and Killian leaves a small band of pirates to guard the ship. I think this will be the time where it is easiest to escape the ship." Again, Lanoria nodded. "I just have to make sure that the men are focused on me. I'll divert their attention. You'll sneak out of the door to the stores jump into the water. It'll be a very short swim to the docks. I think I can...obtain...enough money to get you passage back to your land. There, you'll have to find your husband and run far away. As far away as you can. Do you undestand? Between Killian and the queen, you're sure to be hunted. Your powers are...invaluable." Anya told Lanoria. "Do you understand the plan? How it works?" Lanoria noded unsurely,and then said, "I do. I think I do. I just have one question." Anya nodded expectantly. "Why do you refer to the captain by his name?" she asked. "I mean...I thought you were his servant. Forgive me if I was wrong." her voice had become wavering and unsure, and she bowed her head respectuflly, as though it had just dawned on her that she might be more than she let on. "No, no, no. I assure you, I'm nothing but Killian's-captain's-servant." she said, trying desperately to come up with an excuse for why she might refer to her lover by his proper name without revealing the true nature of their relationhip. "We...are...we've...I...he" her mind did not seem to be working. "I call the captain that behind his back...just a petty way of expressing my rebellion, I suppose. I would never call it to his face, though." she said. Lanoria did not seem satisfied with the answer, but she did not press any further. Anya was helping her to have the life she wanted desperately; she could put up with a few minor quirks. "Well, I should be getting back out on the deck before they notice I'm gone." sighed Lanoria, forcing herself to stand despite her aching muscles. "And I too should leave these quarters. It must be almost midday by now!" Anya stated, taking Lanoria's hand to pull herself up. "Together, then." Lanoria said, hooking her arm through Anya's. It made her feel as though she were a small child again. "Together." Anya replied, smilling contentedly.

The day was grim and the sky cloudy when the two women arrived on deck. There was a a sense of slugishness on the ship; everyone was either sitting at the grand table or leaning against the sides of the ship to stare disinterestedly out at the sea. Everyone, that is, except Killian. Instead of appearing apathetic and bored like everyone else, he was pacing back and forth on the deck with a worried and angry expression on his face and his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He was so deep in his thoughts that he did not even notice the two women. Anya couldn't decide if she was grateful or saddened by that fact.

"Why don't you go tend to your duties, Lanoria? I'll meet you in my quarters later to tell you everything in detail." the woman nodded respectfully, and scurried off towards the hull to do whatever monotonous task she had been assigned. Anya smiled inwardly at the slight hop in the woman's step; it felt nice to be doing good for others again. Anya knew there were more imortant things to think about at the moment besides Lanoria, however. She wondered how the captain might react when Lanoria escaped. Would he be hurt? Angry? _Of course he'd be angry! _Anya thought obviously to herself. _It's just a matter of how angry he will be._ She liked to think that they had grown too close for him to...kill her...as he had done a month ago with one of his crew members, but Anya was sure that there would still be consequences more painful than she would like to imagine. _It doesn't matter. I'm helping a woman to be reunited with her husband; I'm helping her attain peace. I can handle some skin off my back, _she assured herself. _Besides, Killian might not even know that it's me who helped her escape. She might've done it all on her own accord, or maybe he'll think it was another crew member. As long as I play this carefully, nothing too awful should come of it. _Anya tried to believe the words she was thinking, and forced herself to smile confidently. As long as she kept her courage, everything would be alright. She was sure of it. She would live after all this. Right? Anya refused to let herself think otherwise.

_If I'm going to be courageous_, Anya thought grudgingly, _I had better start practicing now. _She mustered all the strenght and bravery inside her, took a deep breath and walked over to the captain, who had still neither noticed her nor stopped pacing. He only looked up when he saw a pair of worn out shoes barring his path. "Why, you-" he started angrily, a dangerous glint in his eyes, before he noticed who exactly it was in front of him. "Anya?" His tone was surprised. "Hi." she responded meekly, unsure exatly what to say. What were you _supposed_ to say after making love with a man? "I trust you slept well?" he asked conversationally, trying to dissipate some of the intense stiffness between their two bodies. "Much better than I have in a long time, captain." she responded. She didn't dare call him Killian in front of all the other men. "That's good to hear." Killian said to her, a small smile hinting at his lips. _Does that mean she doesn't regret it? _he thought hopefully to himself. "I, too, slept very well." Anya's only reply was a shy giggle as she looked to the ground sheepishly. Killian couldn't help but chuckle to himself; the girl's embarassment and shyness about the previous night was endearing. She was still his innocent little Anya. "I had some _very_ good dreams last night. How about you, Anya?" he asked her casually, his voice hinting slightly at something more perverse. "I did, captain. Very nice dreams indeed." Where his words had been suggestive and mocking, hers were entirely sincere; Killian could see it in her eyes. "We wouldn't want you to be having nightmares, now would we?" Killian said, "Would you care to share your dream with me?" Anya smiled bashfully and shook her head. "Well, then, I suppose I'll just have to tell you about mine." Killian whispered, his voice getting lower and more tantalizing with every word. "I dreamt I was in bed with the most beautiful girl in the world, with the reddest of lips and the fairest of skin." he started, admiring the smile Anya was giving him as he spoke. "I dreamt she was in my arms, naked. And she was warm, so, so warm...everywhere." Killian continued. He could see a small blush creeping onto Anya's face. "I wanted her so badly. I wanted her more than anything in the world. Her body made me so hard and her heat made me lose control. And you know what, Anya?" he asked her. Her cheeks were now glowing a soft shade of pink as she shook her head. "What, captain?" He smiled lopsidedly, not expecting her to have said anything. "She let me have her. The most beautiful girl in the world, a virgin no less, let me have her. She let me inside her, let me reach my climax _inside her._ She screamed my name and I screamed hers." he said, brushing Anya's hand with his. He tilted her chin up so that she would look directly into his eyes, so that he could see her face, which was a practically scarlet with embarassment, when he said his next few words. "We made love. I thrust inside her heat and she kissed me and held me and moaned like she loved it. She shivered in my arms as she came, and I moaned into her as I did too. Everything about her, her body, her shouts and twists and bucks, it was all..._perfect_." He had utterd the last word so quietly it was practically inaudible, but Anya had still heard it. And that was all that mattered. He had said that she was perfect and she had heard it. "It sounds like a...lovely dream, captain." Anya said shyly. "Let me assure you, it was." Killian responded. "I was hoping that I might have the same one tonight, in fact." It took a moment for Anya to understand what Killian meant by that, but when she did, she took an unconscious step towards him. "I...is...would you..." she didn't know how to respond. She didn't want to continue this relationship with Killian if she was just his plaything on the boat, and as soon as he got off and found another girl, he would leave her in the dust. She didn't want to be his ragdoll that's only good for one thing.

"How do I know, captain, that this dream is meaningful to you?" she inquired, in a thinly veiled attempt to ask him how he felt about her. Killian did not seem to understand what she meant, however, as he just shook his head in confusion. Anya sighed. "I mean, is the girl in your dreams, is she someone you'll dream of every night, or will she be replaced by whatever maiden waltzes in? Is she someone you can only picture youself with in bed, or is she someone you're willing to open yourself up to, someone who you can learn to truly care for?" Her words were cryptic and her analogy...ambiguous, but Killian thought he understood what she was asking. "This girl in my dreams, she doesn't exist only so that I can be inside her, Anya. She's so much more than that. _So much more._" he assured her. Anya's chest was pressed tightly against Killian's own now, her face so close to his that he could feel his hot breath on her face with every word he spoke. It sent shivers down her spine, warmed her heart inside her chest. "Really?" she asked disbelievingly. Killian chuckled lightly, responding, "Really, Anya. Really."


	14. Chapter 14

**Alright, chillins', here's the last chapter before my forced vacation hiatus. The next time I'll be posting will probably be around Tuesday or Wednesday, so a week from now. I hope you guys like it, though, and feel free to leave me any suggestions or comments about the story! -Airel**

Anya could hear Killian breathing rhymically and feel his chest rising in long, paced intervals, and knew that his eyes were closed in a deep sleep. It was only then that she deemed it safe to try and escape from his strong clutch on her. She took the arm that was folded over her waist and set it on his side slowly gently so as not to disturb him. Carefully, holding her breath inadvertently, Anya peeled herself away from his naked chest and sat upright in the bed. She shivered briefly at the lack of body heat surrounding her before she stood fully and walked over to his desk. Quietly, she pulled out the first wooden drawer, unashamed by her nakedness, to find there was hardly anything in there but paper, ink and quills. She bit her lip apprehensively as she closed it and opened the next drawer. There was a silver key chain, some stale pieces of bread and three glass bottles of whisky that clinked together when Anya had pulled the drawer open. She had stiffened her body and closed her eyes at the sound, hearing Killian stir in his sleep in the bed directly behind her. When she was certain that the moment had passed and he was still sleeping deeply, Anya closed the drawer and attempted to open the third and last drawer, but to no avail. _It must be stuck_, she thought annoyedly, giving it another firm tug. Still nothing. Anya's thoughts became more and more anxious. _What is wrong with this drawer? If I pull any harder I'm sure to make a cacophony! _She bent down next to the object, sitting on her knees, when she noticed that there was a small, empty keyhole. _Of course. Killian wouldn't leave all his possessions unguarded, _she thought to herself stupidly, _We _are_ on a pirate ship after all. _

But where Anya was going to find the key was another story completely. She looked about the room to see where he might keep it, her eyes landing on a small wooden dresser. _Bingo, _she thought victoriously, crawling over to it. She pulled the door to the furniture open, wincing as it gave a protesting creak, when her eyes landed on...Killian's clothes. He had in his closet four pairs of the same jacket he wore every day, the same number of black leather pants and a spare set of his black pirate boots. Anya smiled and, if the situation had not been so tense, would have laughed. The man was apparently not one for variation. _But I still haven't found the key_! she thought frustratedly to herself, trying to remain on task. She shuffled the clothes around, trying to see if he had hidden it in any pockets, but found nothing. Nor did she find a secret latch on the back, sides, or bottom of the dresser as she had hoped to find when she slid her hands along the dusty furniture. In truth, she had been slighty disappointed. She had always thought pirates to be extremely complicated and secretive creatures, with secret hiding places for all their most valuable treasure. That did not seem to be the case, however, with Killian. She put her hands exasperatedly on her hips and gave the dresser a frustrated shake of the head, as though she could scare it into giving her the key. No such luck.

_Where could he have possibly put it?_ she thought, finding no other places in the room where he might hide it. _Unless..._ her eyes traveled to his pants that had been thrown carelessly to the ground earlier that night, when he and Anya had made love for the second time. A devious smile spread wide across her face as she stepped ever so quietly across the room. She picked up the pants with exaggerated care, hearing a slight tinkling sound as she did. Her grin spread even wider at that; she knew it was the key. Pulling them excitedly out of his pocket, she found that there were in fact two keys on one key chain. _I wonder what the other one goes to..._Anya thought curiously as she unlatched the third drawer to his desk. Opening it dramatically, she looked inside to find at twenty small rolls of money. Taking one out, _(mustn't be greedy)_, she closed the drawer, latched it back up and shoved the keys back into Killian's pants, setting them down with carefully haphazardnous. Smiling satisfiedly to herself, she dressed in her shift, walked slowly from the room and closed the door quietly, rushing to her own quarters once she found herself safely away from Killian's doors. Lanoria was already there, sitting on Anya's bed, shaking her legs nervously. "Have you got the money?" she asked hopefully, looking up to Anya with eyes wide of worry. "I got it." Anya replied proudly, holding the roll in her hands and extending it to Lanoria, who regarded it both shock and joy. "How did you manage to do this?" she asked, taking the money with shaking hands and holding it as though it were a delicate vase ready to break at the smallest of touches. "It really wasn't that hard...I'm just very...stealthy." Anya said amusedly, basking in her small victory. She didn't feel compelled to tell Lanoria that she had already been sleeping in Killian's room and had really only needed to open a drawer to get the money; what was the point? "I can't tell you how much this means to me." Linny told her happily, still looking at the money with unshed tears in her eyes. "This was nothing," Anya told her, "the real work is going to be getting you off this ship." She sat down next to the woman on the bed and smiled warmly to her. "But it's nothing we can't handle." Lanoria looked seriously to Anya, "Why don't you come with me? We could run away together. I've got enough money here to get me, my husband _and_ you to somewhere safe. We could be free _together_." Her words were heartfelt and sincere, even hopeful, but Anya knew she could not accept. Though she had pondered the idea at length in her first few weeks on the ship, now that she and Killian had become...close...and she felt that she as truly apart of something, she knew she couldn't go back. She had broken her vows as a nun, her city was pillaged, and trying to escape with Lanoria meant compromising the entire operation. There needed to be someone to distract the pirates as Linny escaped; if they both left then they were sure to get caught. No, Anya knew the prospect of escaping was not one that existed for her. "I don't think so. I'm...happy here." she told Lanoria, though 'happy' might not have been the best word. Content, perhaps, but not happy. She felt like she _could_ be happy though, as long as Killian didn't betray her. "Besides, you _and_ me gone even for more than an hour is likely to arouse suspicions. As long as I'm there covering for you, you should have enough time to get safely out of the city limits." Anya patted the woman's arm comfortingly and gave her an encouraging smile. "This is something only you can do." Lanoria nodded sadly, resignedly; she did not want to leave Anya behind, but she knew that it was her only choice. "Can you just do one thing for me, Lanoria?" Anya asked quietly. The woman nodded vigorously. "Anything, Anya. After all you've done for me...I'll do anything." Anya gave her a grateful smile and whispered, "Remember me." The look Lanoria gave her at that moment, one of pity and love and...friendship...it was one that Anya recognized as being the look Killian gave her so often. Before Lanoria answered, however, she decided instead to nearly dive at Anya, wrapping her arms around her tightly. Tears were running down her face, though whether they were tears of sadness or joy, Anya could not tell. She only heard a small voice whisper in her ear, "Always."

* * *

Anya slept fitfully the night before the ship docked, visions of pain and torture plaguing her dreams. She saw Killian thrusting her over the side of the ship, casting her away into the sea as he had Slit. She saw Lanoria being whipped, crying out in pain everytime the instrument cracked and collided with her back. In her dreams, they had always been caught, and they had always been punished severely. Simple to say that when the sun rose into the sky, Anya felt anything but rested. Her body screamed in protest as she shifted uncomfortably in her bed, pulling herself up. It was a wonder she was able to function at all; she had never felt so tired. There were dark rings under her eyes and her muscles were shaking with sheer exhauastion. Still, she forced herself to go about her duties as though it were a normal day, forced herself to never look at Lanoria or Killian in the eye. She kept her head held low, spoke to no one. Lanoria did the same, refusing to meet anyone's gaze. If anyone had payed any kind of attention to the two, they would have assumed something was amiss, but as Killian locked himself in his chambers in preparation of the attack and the rest of the crew were performing their duties, there was no one to pay attention to them. And for that, they were both _very_ grateful.

When the ship docked, Killian lead the pillage against a small fishing village, taking the majority of his men with him. As Anya had predicted, a small minority of the crew remained on the ship, and payed little heed to anything going on around them. Very few were foolish enough to attack a pirate ship with pirates on it, however few they were. So they kept their minds focused on the card games they were playing, talking obnoxiously about some inane or crude thing. Truthfully, though Anya was working right next to them, she didn't hear a word they said. All she could hear were her own thoughts, screaming loud in her head. _What if Lanoria gets caught? What if they figure out it was me? What if Lanoria escapes, but then Killian finds her on land? What if..._ What if. They were the two most feared and immobilizing words in the english language. They allowed for anyone to concoct reasons not to do something, reasons to submit and accept what came to them. But Anya was determined to help Lanoria escape, even if it meant facing Killian's wrath, or that of the crew. Apparently, many of the men had taken quite a liking to the older woman on the ship, though likely not in an entirely appropriate sense. Anya did admit that she was very beautiful for her age, if she did not wear constantly on her face an expression of worry and sorrow. Though that was neither here nor there. She supposed she was just trying to find excuses to push the operation off longer. Sighing, she forced herself to climb off her knees and pick her bucket of water and soap. Setting it down next to the hull, she tapped her shoes twice loudly on the floorboards, which indicated to Lanoria who was hiding directly under them that it was time. All the men who sat at the table thought anything of the sound.

Anya walked slowly up to them, trying to sway her hips erotically as she had seen the young women do back at home. She kept her lips slightly parted and smiled sweetly, taking the stack of cards from the men. It was only then that they looked up at Anya, as though they had not even noticed her before. "Can we be doing somethin' for 'ya, girl?" a man with a devilish smile and three teeth of gold asked her, "Or rather, can we be doing somethin' _to_ 'ya?" All the men sitting around him gave laughed as though it were the funniest thing in the world. "I just wondered if I could play." Anya replied innocently, fanning the deck out and folding it back in. "I don't be seein' why not" the man replied. "Why don't you be takin' a seat right here?" he replied suggestively, tapping his lap lightly. There was another approving laugh from the men. _Are all men this vile, _Anya thought disgustedly to herself, _or is just pirates? _"I think I'll stand, thank you." she said curtly, clutching the deck tighter in her hands. She saw out of the corner of her eye Lanoria appear in the doorway to the stores, walking slowly towards the side of the ship so as to go unnoticed. Thankfully, most of the men's backs were to her; Anya's job was to entertain those who were _facing _Lanoria. "I suppose I'll shuffle, then?" Anya asked conversationally, forcing herself to stare dead-on at the pirate she had been talking to. She didn't want to give anything away. "I suppose you should be shufflin." the man replied gruffly. Apparently, he did not like to be turned down.

Anya cut the deck in half, straightening it out on the table. She had often played card games with her father at home and was quite adept in the different, fanciful techniques of shuffling. She had always found it comforting to shuffle cards for long periods of time. The soft swish they made when they came together, how they would lightly tickle your fingers if you were fast and smooth enough when doing the 'bridge' as it was called. It was all very soothing. But today, there would be none of that. Her job was to keep the men's eyes glued to her for as long as possible, so...she dropped the cards to the ground. "How clumsy of me," she said in a tone of mock sheepishness, "Can you three help me pick them up?" She pointed to the three men that were directly facing Lanoria. They were none too happy to do it, but eventually they climbed down from their chairs and began to collect the scarttered cards, at which time Anya thrust her head back to tell Lanoria to make a run for it. The woman wasted no time in abiding.

When the three men all climbed back to their knees and handed Anya the cards, she thanked them kindly and kissed each of their cheeks, thinking that it mighth work to brighten their mood; it always had back at home. But the gesture seemed to make them even more frustrated, as all three grumbled under their breath about some, "innocent little nun-girl". Anya rolled her eyes and ignored their words. "I suppose I should just start dealing, then?" Anya asked all the men sitting at the table. No one responded. "Right." Anya whispered quietly to herself, passing each man a card until the deck ran out. She heard a small splash, then, but tried to cover it up with a series of fake-coughs. Not the most subtle method in the world, but effective. "You be alright, Anya?" Smee asked innocently, eyes wide with concern. The girl nodded slightly and straightened herself back out, once she was sure that Lanoria wouldn't be making much more noise. _The rest is up to you. Run, Linny, run!_ she thought to herself. There was nothing that she wanted more than to know that her friend was okay, but she just had to have faith. And faith, luckily, was something Anya had never lacked.

* * *

The men would never have noticed the absence of the serving maid if it had not been that their quarters had not been cleaned when they entered them, only one hour after the escape. That task had been Lanoria's duty, just like cleaning Killian's quarters was Anya's. Anya had, in fact, warned Lanoria to do her rounds normally that day, so as not to cause suspicion, but she supposed that the woman had either forgotten in her excitement or hadn't had enough time to get around to it. Either way, the task remained unfinished and a dangerous flaw in their plan. Anya only hoped that no one would...

"Anya, go be finding the wench so she can be cleaning these chambers." ...ask her to do that.

Anya walked slowly and somberly to Lanoria's empty chambers, considering how she might do next. _She won't have had enough time to get safely out of the city yet, _Anya thought worriedly, _If I tell them that she's missing, they'll send out a search party and she'll definitely get caught. But if I tell them she's in her chambers ill, then once they figure out that she's gone, I'll be punished._ It was a matter of sacrificing Lanoria for herself, of herself for Lanoria. _What shall I do...what _can _I do? _Her thoughts were frantic and scattered, fearful as she imagined the horrible fates that could be bestowed upon herself or Lanoria, one of which was certain to come true. _But which..._that is the question. She remembered dimly the words of her pastor, the words he had spoken to her as a girl, when she had taken the last piece of bread at the service from a peasant boy. He had whispered kindly in her ear a passage she had thought she had long since forgotten, one about selflessness and love. "As for the rich in this present age, charge them not to be haughty, nor to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly provides us with everything to enjoy. They are to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share, thus storing up treasure for themselves as a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of that which is truly life."

It was because of this memory, because of these words of kindness and sagacity, that Anya returned to the crew's quarters, informing the men that she'd be cleaning them for Lanoria while the woman was ill in her room. And as the youthful princess swept and scrubbed at the ground, she hummed a merry tune that made her smile.


	15. Chapter 15

**Hey, guys! Sorry I got this chapter published so late, both my math teacher and my english teacher decided to be an a*shole and a b*itch respectively and _drown_ me in homework tonight, so I really had very little time for correction and review. Very sorry for any grammatical spelling errors or any writing that might sound...awkward. I really hope you guys like it and of course encourage you to review. Next chapter will probably come out Saturday, but maybe Friday if I have a lot of free time (likely not gonna happen)... Anyways, on to the story!**

For the first time in a long time, Anya lost herself in her work. The continuous pattern of wet and scrub, wet and scrub, wet and scrub eased her mind and dulled her senses. Her hands were wrinkly and her knees aching from the pressure, and yet she hadn't even noticed. She just continued humming contentedly to herself, thinking neither the future or the past, just seeing the sponge and the water and the now sparkling clean deck. The bottom of her dress was completely soaked through, and the crew were working diligently around her but Anya took no notice. It was not until dark had fallen and Killian and his pirates had returned that she was finally torn from her reverie. The men were trading goods and boasting of the treasures they'd plundered and the women they'd had on their pillage, all the while shouting obnoxiously for their dinner and rum. Tonight, just like so many other nights, was a night to celebrate, apparently.

Soon after, as the alcohol was flowing freely and the pirates became rowdier and rowdier, they began singing in an uncoordinated medley of screechy and drunken voices one of their favorite songs:

___Shiver My Timbers, shiver My Soul_

_____There are men who's hearts as black as coal_

_And they sailed their ship across the ocean blue_

_A Blood thirsty captain and a cut throat crew._

_It's a darker tale as was ever told_

_Of a lust for treasure and a love of gold..._

_Shiver My Timbers, Shiver my sides_

_Yo ho he ho_

_There are hungers as strong as the winds and tides_

_Yo ho he ho_

_And those bucaneers drowned their sins in rum_

_The devil himself would have to call 'em scum!_

_Every man on board would have killed his mate for a bag of ginnys or a piece of eight, a piece of eight, a piece of eight..._

Anya rolled her eyes and smiled amusedly at Killian, who met her stare with an equally entertained smirk. Their gazes held for a moment, neither saying anything, before the crew began the song again and Killian joined in with them, holding his chalice of rum high above his head. Anya shook her head knowingly and giggled as the men continued to sing loudly, their voices now strained and even more drunken. It didn't take long for all of them to demand yet another round of rum, slamming their fists and palms on the table and calling Anya over so that she might refill their glasses and chalices. As she ran distractedly around, trying to satisfy all of the men on board, Anya thought wistfully to herself, _If only Lanoria were here. It would be so much easier..._before she stopped the thought in its tracks. _No, I'm glad Lanoria's gone. If ever there was anyone who deserved freedom and happiness, it was...is...her._ _She's on her way to seeing her husband again and living a life worth living. I've done something truly good_. Anya smiled to herself happily and continued to pour alcohol into the crews' chalices; there was never a better feeling than knowing that you have helped someone, even if the consequences might be...less than desirable. _Musn't think about that. It's a matter for tonight. No, a matter for morning. No, a matter for never. I'm fine...Mustn't think about that.__  
_

Anya did her best to distract herself from thoughts of Lanoria and punishment, though to little avail. She snuck constant glances towards Killian, wondering what he might do to her once he figured out what she'd done. He seemed so jovial, so care free at that moment with his rum in hand and a smile plastered wide across his face that it was hard to believe he was capable of hatred or cruelty. He was so handsome and his laugh so lighthearted it almost made Anya forget what she was worrying about. Almost. _He's still a pirate, _she reminded herself disdainfully. _He's raped and pillaged and tortured before. Why should I be any different? Because we're _lovers? _He's had many a lover before, I'm sure of it. There's nothing special about me. Nothing. _The words she heard in her head were anything but the words she wanted to hear, however, anything but the words she wanted to believe. There was some part of her, a part that she forced herself to repress, that thought Killian truly cared for her. The speech he had given her the morning after they had first made love was endearing and sweet and it seemed...entirely heartfelt...but Anya was not so dim, not so naive to succumb to his charms. If there was one thing she had learned on this ship, it was that no one was truly there for you but yourself. No one was going to protect you or save you or care for you but you, especially not a notoriously violent and ruthless pirate captain. Especially not Killian. _Then why do you sleep with him?_ A voice in the back of Anya's mind asked her, _Why do you allow him to ravage you if he does not care for you? _The answer, however badly Anya chose to deny it, was because she _cared _for him. She pleaded with herself to forget Killian and the ecstasy she felt when he was inside her, she tried to reason with her heart, as though she could bargain with it. _You can make me love whoever you want, a king, a servant, an 80 year old man, just not _him_. Just not Killian. _If her heart heard her, however, it did not respond.

"What are you thinking about, Anya?" she heard a voice ask her, husky and heavy with alcohol. She snapped out of her thoughts, startled by the feeling of a hand brushing her waist. She looked up to see that it was Killian standing right in front of her, eyes dark with curiosity. She saw on his face none of his usual challenging arrogance, but rather a serious and sincere side she had witnessed only in bed with him. And even then, it was rare. "Nothing, Killi- captain. Nothing, captain." Anya replied, stumbling over his name. However loud and ignorant the crew may be, it was best to maintain appearances just in case someone heard something. "I don't buy that for a second." Killian told her, taking another step towards her while tightening his grip on her waist. It was not an act meant to intimidate or control, just one that allowed him to be close to her, to feel the warmth of her body against him. "I-I was just thinking about..." Anya panicked, not knowing entirely what to say; she had always been terrible at lying...and the truth certainly wouldn't do. _I was just wondering whether or not you loved me, and if I could ever learn to love someone else besides you_. No, the truth wouldn't be appropriate. "...about...Lanoria..." Anya mentally slapped herself. Of course she would bring up the one thing that she did _not_ want Killian to pay any mind to. "What about Lanoria?" he asked, features twisted into a perplexed expression. "She...um...is sick and I am just...worried that she...might be...contagious!" The last word came out a victorious squeak as Anya was surprised with her own cleverness (or _relative_ cleverness). "We wouldn't want the rest of the crew to be getting it, would we? I suggest that we leave her in solitary confinement for the next few days, just to make sure that she doesn't infect everyone else." Anya smiled innocently and hoped that Killian wouldn't see through her ruse. He was either too drunk to notice that she was lying or didn't really give a damn, because he just nodded resignedly and told Anya, "Do whatever you think is best, love. You're the physician." Anya gave him a respectful nod and grinned inwardly; she'd just delayed her punishment.

* * *

Dinner had long since finished, but the men were still talking and shouting, singing drinking songs and challenging each other to arm wrestles and wagers. The ship was like the tavern Anya had never known, the tavern she had never been allowed to enter. It was exactly as she had imagined it, only lacking brutal brawls over unpayed debts, though those were sure to emerge sometime within the next hour or two; pirates weren't the most _trustworthy_ people.

Through the din, Anya heard a small sound, beautiful, harmonious and a dramatic contrast to the discordant and cacophonous voices of the men. At first, it was one long, even note, but it soon quickened to become a fast paced and jubilant melody, accompanied by the sporadic attempts of the drunken pirates to stomp or clap along. Anya realized that it was a fiddle, being played by a smiling Smee at the top of the ship rather adeptly. It was the first music Anya had heard in a long while and it brought a smile to her face and added to skip to her step. She couldn't contain her humming and twirls as she continually served the men's drinks, completely unaware that Killian had been watching her amusedly from his chair at the head of the table. He had his elbow on the arm rest and his head leaning against his hand, all the while smiling as he saw his lover dance merrily to the tune. He himself couldn't help from taping his foot lightly to the beat; the music was contagious. "Where did you learn those steps, love?" he asked over the music, calling out to Anya. The girl, having been caught in the middle of a pirouette, turned abruptly towards him and smiled to the ground, cheeks burning in chagrin. She giggled self consciously and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, uncomfortable under the loving gaze Killian was giving her. "My father. He taught them to me when I was a young girl." Anya replied, biting her lip and shooting a tentative glance at Killian. He still sat in his chair, smiling at her and told her, "You're quite good, dear. Fancy a dance?" He raised his eyebrows expectantly and she smiled back at him, nodding sweetly. The pirate grinned widely, unable to control the foolish joy he felt at that moment, before moving from his place at the table and walking up to Anya. She looked up warmly at him and he smiled kindly down at her, taking her right hand in his and wrapping his arm around her waist. He pulled her body flush against him and she drew in a sharp breath, surprised that he might display this tenderness and affection in public. "Too close for comfort, princess?" Killian asked seductively, whispering the question into her ear. "Not close enough." she replied breathily, trying to imitate his swaggering way of speaking and arrogant wit. It was a pitiful attempt, but Killian found it endearing nonetheless. "I suppose I should fix that, then." he said, picking Anya up and twirling her around in the air, her legs wrapped around his waist and her hands clutching his neck. She squealed excitedly, closing her eyes and tilting her head back as he spun her in a circle and then another and then another until he was sure he was about to topple over.

"That was fun." Anya said breathlessly, once Killian had set her back on her feet and they had resumed their intimate slow dance. "You could say that." he replied, voice playful and light, as always. The couple danced in silence for a good while after that, admiring the sound of the music and the warmth of their partner pressed against them. It was not uncommon for one of them to drift in and out of conscious thought, at some points losing themselves in the dance and simply _moving_ with the other, somehow knowing exactly where and when to step, knowing when to twirl or dip or skip. It was not two lovers dancing together but instead a single body swaying and moving across the deck elegantly, almost bewitchingly. They would often stare into the other's eyes and smile, getting an intimate sense of pleasure throughout their body better than any climax. Anya would lay her head against Killian's chest and allow him to guide her across the floor adeptly, as though he too had been dancing since birth. And when she did that, Killian would kiss the top of her head gently and pull her body even closer to his, relishing the feeling of simply _holding_ someone, and having them hold on to you. It was the best feeling he had ever experienced, and the best feeling Anya had ever experienced, yet...

Breaking the silence between them seemed an unspeakable crime, as Anya had felt for the first time in her life what having a husband might feel like, what it might feel like to have someone who could love you during the day and _love_ you during the night; her family had only ever been capable of one of those things. So, when finally she interrupted the transcendental silence between them, she almost flinched it seemed so unnatural, but her intense curiosity was insatiable and had gotten the best of her yet again. "Where did you learn to dance like this, captain?" she asked airily, looking up at him with confused eyes; he was a pirate, not a noble! "I've traveled many places and met many people, Anya. You learn as you live." He answered her, accompanying the cryptic answer with a mysterious grin. Anya was having none of it, however. "That doesn't answer my question." she stated bluntly, looking up at him with a defiant look that seemed to say, _Go ahead, lie to me. I dare you. _Killian sighed upon seeing the look, recognizing it to be on that meant no good. No matter what language you spoke, 'woman' was a universal dialect. "I spent much of my time sailing along the coast of Bailar, where dancing is an almost sacred custom. I...got to know...many a woman from there, and all of them taught me some steps." His tone had been even and sure, if a bit annoyed, throughout the explanation, except for the slight falter in his voice when he had mentioned the women. 'Got to know' was the nicest way he had of putting it, and yet he was sure he had still seen a flash of hurt in Anya's eyes when he had said it. Trying to recover, he assured her that they were nothing to him, and that they "couldn't compare to your beauty or intellect. They are dimly shining stars whose light is drowned out by the Sun's." he had said, kissing her nose and whispering in her ear, "you're my Sun." Anya had giggled at that and squeezed his hand, cursing herself internally for falling prey to such a trite line. It was just so damned _sweet_! "And you are my moon." she replied, not really knowing what that was supposed to mean, only that it sounded poetic. "That means more to me than I can say, darling." Killian told her in an ambiguous tone; Anya had no idea whether he was being sincere or whether he was mocking her. Unfortunately for her, that was so often the case with him.

The two had fallen back into there comfortable silence again before Killian asked unexpectedly, "Are you happy, Anya?" The girl shot him a surprised glance, never having expected such a question. "What do you mean, captain?" she asked, perplexed. "I mean just what I said. Are you happy here, with me? Are you satisfied?" Anya shrugged uncomfortably and said, "I have water and food and a bed, so I..." Her tentative words were cut off by Killian's low voice, "That's not what I mean and you know it." It was Anya's turn to sigh. She considered the question seriously, thinking about all the things that she had been through on the boat, the things she had witnessed, the things that she had done, the things that had been done to her. She contemplated her previous home, her castle and her father and religion, and she considered what she had here. She had all the basic necessities, of course, but she also had...Killian. What that meant exactly, Anya wasn't sure. _It means I have someone to fall back on. Someone to trust. Someone to hold me in the night when I'm scared. It means I have someone...It also means I have fear. No matter how close I am to him, he's a pirate. He can betray me at any moment. What he says, what he does, it could all be part of some elaborate ploy. And if ever I crossed him, he would sell me down the river for sure, _Anya thought to herself. She didn't dare acknowledge the fact that she had _already_ crossed him and he was bound to find out eventually; she knew it meant her world would crumble. But right now, her world was fine. It was better than fine. Right now, she was in the arms of the man she...loved? No, that couldn't be right. You could't love someone you didn't trust, could you? She was in the arms of the man she cared for. And at that moment, that was all that she needed. "Yes. I'm happy."

* * *

The music had long since stopped and the festivities had died down. All the men were either passed out cold on the deck or walking drunkenly about, shouting unintelligible curses at each other or attempting to fight over what alcohol remained. Even the notoriously stable captain seemed a little unsteady, walking slowly and unsurely across the deck. What men were left conscious and capable of speaking intelligently were all fighting over who had had the most women, and which one Anya or Lanoria would most prefer lying with. Anya did her best to ignore their conversation, humming loudly to herself as she cleared away the dirty dishes. Eventually, however, it was hard _not_ to listen, as they had begun talking so loudly, she was certain people back on land could hear them.

"I'd be the first to bed the wench! Linny been taking a good lookings at me ever since she gots on the ship. She ain't wants none of you!"

"Except for me. I be the best looking, and the strongest. None of you ain't even got a chance."

"You be thinking so, huh? I says we be seeing. We can go be seeing who she wants best, eh?"

Anya's eyes widened when she heard those words. Did they mean to go _now_? "Would you wanna be putting your money where you mouth is, you dumb ass?" Another man's voice interjected. "Indeed I be. Twenty coins to the fella who be having her first, eh?" Anya heard multiple 'ayes' from behind her and a cluster of shuffling feet moving about. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, turning around. "Lanoria is sick. It would be best not to go in her chambers, now." She told them unsurely. If they had even heard Anya, they paid her no mind. Killian raised his eyebrows at her from across the deck, surprised that she might be stand up to his crew. She ignored him and groaned frustratedly, following them down the stairs that lead to Lanoria's old chambers while being pursued unknowingly by the captain. "Please don't go in there; she's resting. She shouldn't be woken...please, don't!" Her voice became slightly more frantic as they reached the narrow and dark corrider with her door. "She's very, very sick and you'll all get infected so please, just go away!" She tried shoving past the men to get to the door, but the hallway was too narrow and they too strong for her to succeed. "No! You'll wake her, don't go in there!" she shouted, jumping so that she could see over their shoulders while they opened the door. There was a moment of confused silence, the image being processed by their alcohol-clouded minds before one of the men erupted, "She be gone! Her bed be made and her box be gone! She be leaving!" Anya heard another voice join in with his, both shouting "She be gone! She be gone!" before a third voice joined the mix. This last one, however, came from behind her and was one she recognized, though laced with venom. "It seems the nun hasn't been entirely _truthful_." _  
_


	16. Chapter 16

**Okay...I'm terrible. I promised this chapter weeks ago and I'm only now getting it published. I am truthfully very sorry. In all honestly, I don't really have a great excuse. Finals aren't even for another month for me. I guess I just got uninspired and didn't really feel like writing. I was only spurred on when a reader of mine PM'ed me. Anyways, at least I got this chapter out at all. Sorry for any mistakes that might be in there, I do my own corrections (which is really just a quick once-over). As for the next chapter, I can no longer make any promises for publishing dates. I'll just write when I feel invested in the story. Hopefully that'll be on a bi-weekly or weekly basis. In all honesty, I feel a lot more inspired when my readers are inspired too, so I might feel compelled to write quicker if I get a lot of reviews (hint-hint). Anyways, thinly veiled attempts at demanding reviews aside, I appreciate all my readers and hope you enjoy this chapter. It may seem incredibly dark and evil, but I promise you ALL IS NOT AS IT SEEMS. PLEASE STICK WITH ME. ;)**

Anya tried to stifle another sob as she felt the biting, sharp pain on her back and the all-too familiar _crack_ that permeated the air. She felt warm blood snake down her body and pool at her feet, tasting at the same time the bitter copper-y liquid in her mouth as she bit down on her cheek to keep from screaming. She heard the voices of the other men, all shouting and jeering with excitement as though she were an animal on display doing inane tricks for them. Their voices, however, were distant. They were drowned out by the only sound that mattered: the _crack__. _That horrible _crack _that caused her to close her eyes, ball her fists and tighten her entire body. The _crack_ that meant more pain. Pain greater than the pain of the last _crack, _but less than the next one.

Anya did not know how long she had been kneeling there with legs folded under her, curling into a ball so that she wouldn't have to look at them, at anything. She forgot seconds, minutes, hours...days. She counted in _cracks_. It had been 18 cracks since it all started, 8 since she had began to shake. She didn't want to think about how many more were left, how much more pain she would be forced to endure. The future didn't matter, just as the past didn't either. It was that moment that mattered, only-

_Crack._ And then came the pain. This time, Anya could not control the tortured yelp that escaped her, and she pulled uselessly at the shackles that kept her bound in place. There was another wave of blood cascading down her back, she could feel it, and she began to cry again. The tears were warm and salty, and fell in her mouth as she sobbed loudly. Her whole body shook uncontrollably, not knowing how to react. Distantly, so distantly, she heard the approving call of men and clanking of glasses. _How can anyone be_ so _cruel, _she asked herself, _as to subject someone to this torture? And how cruel must you be to enjoy it?_

The answer, Anya decided, was simple. You had to be heartless. _Heartless like Killian. _The thought sparked a bitter rage in her heart, and caused her to again thrash desperately in her shackles. _Killian the cold. Killian the cruel. Killian the soulless. _The words, in her mind, were not just. They did not truly encompass the vile evil that _was_ Killian. But then again, nothing could. No one would ever parallel the barbaric cruelty of Captain Killian Jones, it was a gift entirely his own. _His own. On his own. He'll be on his own, alone for the rest of his life. No one could ever care for him. No one could every love something so terribly inhuman. No one. No matter what. He is a beast through and through and no one can change that, not even God himself. I was so blind, so terribly blind..._

_Crack._ The pain was almost unbearable, and Anya swore that if she was forced to endure yet another lash, she would snap. Her muscles, her entire body, her _sanity_, it would all snap like a twig. Of that she was certain. And there were very, very few things she was certain of in that moment. In fact, there were only two-that she would break if pushed any farther, and that she _would_ have her revenge on Killian, no matter what it took. Forget forgiveness, condemn understanding, desert pity.

God who?

* * *

_"It seems the nun hasn't been entirely truthful."_

_The voice was dripping with acid and Anya could hear within it anger and resentment. She knew very well to whom it belonged; she was certain that she would never be able to forget that voice, and that was why she was so afraid to turn around. If there was anything Anya had learned was that Killian, despite whatever feelings he may genuinely feel for her (or pretend to be feeling), could still be cruel. She knew that there was a seed of evil embedded in him, and that no matter how he fought against it, no matter what she did to change that, it would still be there, black and evil as ever. _

_All previous events of the night, the drinking, the dancing, were forgotten in one short moment. Anya knew the situation she was in was serious. She knew that what she had done, taken Lanoria away from Killian, meant that she had likely taken away his chances at finding his great and mysterious treasure, the thing he had lusted after for years, the answers to Anita's death. And she knew that that meant he would be _pissed.

_She drew in an unsteady breath and closed her eyes, mustering her courage, before turning slowly to face him. She stared straight into his eyes, trying to appear unafraid. The look on his face, however, and the way he towered above her, arms crossed on his chest, made for a very intimidating scene. Unknowingly, Anya gulped. _

_"I"m afraid I don't know what you're talking about." _

_Killian pursed his lips and nodded disappointingly to himself, as though saying, _So she decided to take the 'innocent' route. Fantastic.

_"Don't dig yourself a deeper hole, princess." _

_"I wasn't aware I was in a hole, captain." Anya responded haughtily. Her brash words caused Killian to quirk a disbelieving eyebrow. She was a smoother liar than he had expected. _

_"Then where, pray tell, is your darling Lanoria? I thought she had taken ill? I thought she deadly sick and couldn't even get out of bed?" he said, bending down and whispering it dangerously in her ear. _

_"She must be...feeling better?" Anya almost asked, the end of the phrase pronounced more like a question than an answer. _

_"Are you asking me or telling me?" Killian replied redundantly, speaking as though she were a chilld. Anya didn't dare answer the question, only pursed her lips and stared rebelliously into his eyes. Her hands were shaking behind her back. _

_"Just be honest, Anya. Things will go a lot smoother if you do." He said. He saw her icy expression slip a little, saw a crack in her defenses. She couldn't keep the charade up much longer. "What did you do with her?" he asked. His voice was losing some of its bitterness, some of its coldness. There was some emotion seeping in, some pain . "_Why_ did you lie?"_

_Anya ground her teeth and stood on her toes so that her face was equal with his, only inches away. Killian could feel her hot breath brush against him as she whispered in a fierce, low tone, "I didn't."_

* * *

Distantly, Anya was aware that something had changed. There had not been a _crack_ for a long while now, longer than usual. She felt the blood on her back drying and her body slowly begin to relax, to calm. Her mind was still dim and racing, but there was a surreal sense of serenity she had not experienced in what felt like forever.

Anya decided abruptly that there was something truly different, and not just the fact that the _cracks_ had stopped temporarily. The dim, faraway buzzing that were the men's shouts and catcalls had faded. There was no silence, but something damn well close to it. _Maybe it's all done. Maybe Killian's gotten bored with torturing me and ordered them to stop, _she thought wistfully to herself. It was a propsect that was too good to be true. _But a prospect nonetheless..._

Anya slowly uncurled her back and sat up straight, or as straight as she could manage, to see what was happening. Her back screamed in protest at the movement and she began shaking again momentarily before her body got used to the position. Straining her neck to see behind her, Anya dimly saw shapes forming a circle around...something...standing in tense anticipation. As opposed to their obnoxious raucous that was so customary, they were gravely quiet. Whatever it was they were looking at was important, amazing, intense...something. Anya tried to maneuver herself so that she could face the shapes full-on, but there was a blinding pain in her back as she did so, and the sight before her faded, faded along with her pain. Soon, she fell weakly to the deck, succumbing to a merciful sleep.

* * *

_Killian ceased Anya gruffly by the arm, steering her away from the small audience of men that were watching their squabble with great interest. He walked determinedly towards his cabin, dragging her along the entire time, and all but threw her in upon opening the door. The girl nearly lost her balance and stumbled slightly as Killian turned and closed the door behind him. He didn't bother to lock it._

_When he turned to face her, he didn't say a word. And neither did she. Both lovers just stood there silently, waiting for the other to speak, staring disgustedly at each other. It was only after a long and uncomfortable two minutes that Anya finally spoke, admitting defeat in what they both knew was a challenge between them, even if neither said it aloud. It was petty and pointless, but it was where they were at. _

_"You dragged me in here, Killian. What did you want to say?" Her words were not venomous or insulting, only tired. They sounded defeated and annoyed; Anya was fatigued of this game they were playing. If Killian meant to harm her, why didn't he just get it over with already?_

_"You knew how much she meant to me," he started, voice wavering with either sadness or anger; Anya couldn't tell. "And yet you still let her escape."  
_

_Anya bit her lip and stared ashamedly at the ground. She knew what she'd done was good, so why did it feel so awful? "For you to keep her here against her will, for you to drag her away from everything she's ever known and ever loved...it isn't _right_." _

_As soon as the last word had escaped her mouth, Anya knew she had made a mistake. She could hear Killian's teeth grinding together as he summoned every shred of self-control in his body to not walk straight up to her and slap her across the face. _

_"What isn't _right_, Anya_, _is the fact that my sister died at the hands of your insolent, barbaric father who decided that he didn't like her anymore." His words were careful and dangerously slow, but Anya could see that his emotions were getting the best of him. When he spoke next, his voice was raising in volume and he was visibly shaking. "And what isn't _right _is the fact that I...will...never...know...what...happened...now...because of YOU!" He took an angry step towards her, pointing his finger accusingly at her chest. Anya did her best to remain calm and look up at him with the same indifferent face she had worn out on the deck._

_"To be torn from the world in which you grew up, to be torn from your family and your friends, to be thrust into a life of servitude and...nothingness? It's the worst feeling in the world. It makes you want to shrivel up and die knowing that you will never return. Knowing that from now on, you're a miserable servant who's life isn't worth a damn. That's what you gave Lanoria...and that's what I saved her from." Anya whispered as she stared meaningfully into Killian's eyes which were brimmed with tears. She was sure hers looked the same. "That's what you subjected _me_ to. I wanted someone else to escape the fate that I was condemned to."_

_The man standing before Anya couldn't make himself believe her words. He couldn't _let_ himself believe her words. She was all he had, now that Lanoria was gone and his chance of finding out what happened to Anita and his mother lost. Anya was all he had, and she was as good as telling him that he didn't mean anything to her. It couldn't be true. _

_"You don't really think that. You _know_ that you chose this life. You're not miserable here. You told me so yourself.__"_

_Anya forced herself to shrug. "I lied."  
_

_"No, you didn't."_

_"And now you can dictate what I do and don't do?"_

_"I can tell when you're lying, Anya! And when you told me that you were happy, that was the truth. I could see it! You don't really hate it here; this is your _home _now!"_

_"This could never be my home, Killian! Never. I could never convict myself to a life like this; a life of obedience and lies and pain. You cause so much horror and sadness, how could anyone ever be happy with that?" _

_Tears were streaming freely down Anya's face in that moment. She knew the words she spoke were lies, knew that this was her home, now. Her old life, her old city were memories almost forgotten. She knew that from now on, this was where her heart would truly lie. On this blasted ship with this blasted pirate. And that only made her cry more. _

_"Fine. If you hate it so much, fine. Go. See if I care! I don't need you. You were just a plaything for me. Nothing more!"_

_A single, angry tear slipped from Killian's eye as he said the words that would destroy his world forever. "Just...go."_

_Anya turned her back abruptly, trying to stifle the wounded sob that threatened to escape. She didn't want to go, not really, didn't want to run away from him but her emotions were getting the better of her, her pride standing in the way of her happiness. She forced herself to walk through his door and not look back at him, at the man she loved. She was fairly certain that they kept a small skiff on the vessel, and that she could find her way to shore. The island of Archemian was not far, and the king had been good friends with her father. The escape would be easy, the pain would not._

_As Anya walked onto the deck, she heard footsteps behind her, fast and loud, and she dared to hope that maybe they were Killian's. He was going to ask her to stay, tell her he didn't mean it. He was going to apologize. Anya made to turn around, but suddenly she felt a great weight fall on top of her head and crashed to the ground. Her last thought before she slipped into unconsciousness was of Killian...and what he intended to do with her._

_Her next moments spent alert were ones full of confusion and pain, as she found herself chained to the deck surrounded by men, her dress around her hips to expose her back. She heard men cheering and whistling and knew then what Killian intended to do to her. His betrayal left a bitter taste in her mouth as she heard it for the first time. That sound. That terrible, terrible sound that meant so many things all at once._

Crack.

* * *

When Anya regained consciousness, she almost wondered if the events of the previous night had been a dream; it just seemed to unbelievable. Killian and her had danced and talked and kissed...and she had admitted to him that she was happy on his ship, in his arms. And then, when he had found out about her betrayal, it all went to hell. She told him that she could never be happy with him, that this would never be her home. And he had told her to leave, to get out of his sight. And then...it got worse, if that were even possible. It seemed too random and strange to be real, and Anya was ready to brush it aside as a figment of her overly active imagination when she tried to pull herself up from her bed. It was then that she decided it _was_ all real.

First, there was a soreness about her entire body and an acute pain in her back that could not be explained unless of course the lashings had actually occurred Second, the sheets under her were soaked with wet blood and stiff with dry blood, and there was gauz wrapped tightly around her torso, restricting her breathing. Lastly, she realized, this was not even her bed. These were not her quarters. Somehow, she had wound up in the bed of the despicable man she had vowed to leave. Somehow, she was still alive. And most importantly, somehow, she was going to get revenge on Killian.

As if on queue, the very man she was swearing vengeance on walked surreptitiously into the room, closing the door silently and carrying in his hand a box of potions and creams. He obviously thought she was still asleep. He stepped lightly to the side of the bed and stared pityingly down at Anya, who had closed her eyes tightly and and steadied her breathing so as to appear asleep.

Killian leaned down and kissed Anya lightly on the forehead whispering, "You'll be okay" into her ear. He straightened out and stroked her cheek lovingly with his the back of his hand, tracing the outline of her lips with a quivering finger. How could his insolent, disgusting crew had done the thing they had done to such an inncocent, sweet girl? In that moment, sheso looked happy, serene...so fragile.

In truth, she was the opposite of all those things. Anya wanted to spit in his face when he had kissed her, wanted to writhe under his corrupt touches, but she forced herself to remain immobile and keep her eyes closed, careful to not betray her consciousness. She would have to pretend that nothing had changed before she could stab him in the back, as he had her. Or, more specifically, lashed her on the back. But that was neither here nor there.

"I'm sorry they hurt you, darling. I'm so sorry." As Killian spoke these words softly, Anya could hear a genuine crack in his voice, an undeniable falter that screamed sorrow. He was sincere. _But what does he mean his _men_ hurt me? _Anya asked herself. _It was him who did it. Him who ordered the lashes. Him who knocked me over the head...Right?_


	17. Chapter 17

**Voilà my next installment. I think this is a pretty decent chapter, actually, and really like the ending. It's just so fluffy! Also, I'm having a little contest. There's a reference in here to one of my favorite books/TV shows. To give you guys a clue, the show airs on HBO and will soon start its third season. Can anyone find the reference? If you do...you win, I guess? I don't know...that's not much of an incentive but whatever. Also, HAPPY HOLIDAYS everyone. I hope you all have a Merry Christmas (or whatever you celebrate) and a happy new year!**

* * *

The room was deadly quiet; unnaturally quiet, even, and Anya allowed herself to tentatively peek one eye open. She realized too late, however, that that was a big mistake.

As soon as she had opened her eye even a split millimeter, Killian was at her side, shushing her and kissing her gently on the cheeks and forehead. He brushed away the hairs that were stuck on her sweaty face and smiled tenderly, genuinely happy to see that she was awake. His bombardment of affection momentarily shocked Anya, before she awkwardly shrugged him away and scooted to the other side of the bed as much as she could manage. Killian looked at her with a slightly confused stare before brushing it off and setting to work.

He fished among viles and viles of potions and creams that he had layed on her, erm, _his_ beside table, whispering softly to himself as he did so. When finally he found what he was looking for, he walked around the bed and stood before Anya, giving her that same pitying and loving smile. It sickened her.

"How are you feeling, Anya?" he asked considerately as he looked expectantly at her.

Anya shrugged and responded curtly, "Fine." She was not in the mood to talk to the man that had caused her so much pain, both inside and out.

Killian seemed slightly taken aback with her shortness, but again dismissed it and continued on as if nothing was wrong.

"Do you think you can sit up for me, love?" he asked her. Anya pursed her lips and nodded, placing her palms flat against the mattress on either side of her. She tried to push up with them and not with her back, knowing that that would be far too painful, but only got about half way up before her strength failed her and she collapsed helplessly on the bed.

Killian quickly rushed to her side as though she were an incapable child, and in that moment she was (even if she wouldn't admit it to herself) and wrapped his arm around her back gently. He placed his other arm under her knees and pulled her up to a sitting position, giving her an apologetic look the entire time. Anya pretended not to notice.

"Take this." he said overtly sweetly, handing her a clear vile of what looked to be water, "It will help with the pain."

Anya did as she was told, tipping the glass and her head up before swallowing the foul liquid with a soured expression. Definitely _not _water.

"And this. This eliminates soreness. Oh, and this and this one, too. And..."

"Killian!" Anya interrupted. He had been picking up vile after vile and shoving them all into her lap, a somewhat frenzied expression on his face. "I think I just need rest. Rest is the best remedy." she told him matter-of-factly, just wanting to be left alone. He nodded numbly at first, as though he did not quite understand but hastened his step when it seemed like her words hit home.

"Right. You'll be tired, of course. I'll just let you rest while the potion takes effect, love. Sweet dreams." He told her airily, placing one last tender kiss on her cheek before walking to the other side of the bed and opening the door. Anya, however, couldn't retain herself. She needed to ask.

"Killian?" she prodded weakly. She told herself that she had _meant_ to sound that way, and it was in no way a testament of her fragility. "Can I ask you something?"

The man gave her a sweet smile and answered, "Of course" before walking back in the room and closing her door. Anya took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She was going to regret this.

"Why is it that you're trying to salvage and heal the girl you helped torture?"

Her words were biting and acrid on the surface, but underneath they were sorrowful and betrayed. She was a girl sick with grief over the man she thought she loved, not with pain. Or physical pain, anyways. "Why is it that you're fixing me after you _broke _me?" She refused to let herself cry, refused to let him see that soft, pitiful side of hers. Never again. Never, ever, ever again. She was not so naive this time around, not so stupid as to believe his act. He would pay for what he'd done.

"Wh-what? Darling, what are you talking about?" Killian asked, face clouded with legitimate bewilderment. _Was this why she was acting so icy?_

"Don't play stupid with me, pirate." Anya spat at him, voice dripping with acid. He wasn't Killian anymore, he was 'pirate'.

"I'm _not__, _Anya. What...are...you...talking...about?" He asked slowly, teeth bared. If she was accusing him of what he thought-

"I'm talking about last night!" Anya shouted at him, straightening her back despite the acute shot of pain it sent up her spine. "I'm talking about the fight...and how you knocked me over the head and chained me to the deck like a _dog_ and..." she sucked in a deep breath before continuing, "and had me lashed. You had me lashed as though I were a _slave_ who-who _misbehaved_." _  
_

"I didn't do _any_ of those things, Anya." Killian replied heatedly, his words thick with shock. How could she dare to think that he was responsible for any of that? "I would _never_ hurt you like that. Ever."

"So who did it then, huh?" Anya spat back at him. This was escalating much quicker than she anticipated. She could feel the blood boiling in her veins, coursing through her body. The exhaustion and pain she had felt earlier melted away and were replaced by strength and anger. There was no room for weakness right now, no place for susceptibility. It was what pirates prayed on. "Who was it that hurt me after I had betrayed _you_, fought with _you_? Who was it that knocked me over the head moments after I walked out on _you, _if not _you_?" _  
_

"I don't know." Killian replied. "I don't know who hit you over the head, or _me_ for that matter. I don't know who it was that beat you like that, beat you _bloody_," he gestured furiously towards her disheveled figure, "and I don't know _why, _but trust me _everyone _on this boat is paying the price until I do."

His words both shocked and confused Anya at the same time. Hit _him_ over the head? Paying the price? "What-what are you talking about?" she asked innocently, reverting unknowingly to her usual voice and temperament. It helped to calm Killian down. "I _mean_..." he sighed then and sat next to Anya on the bed, placing his elbows contemplatively on his knees and rubbing his forehead frustratedly. "Last night after you and I...fought..." the word was said unwillingly through a clenched jaw, "someone knocked me over the head too. They tied me up in my quarters, to my bed post. I heard the crew shouting and I heard you...I heard you _crying _and-and _screaming_ and I _knew _what was happening, I _knew._" He sucked in a wavering breath, running his hands through his black hair before continuing, "but I couldn't help. They tied me down good and all I could do was listen to you being _hurt__..._listen to you begging for mercy..." Anya was unsure, but she swore that she saw a tear in the corner of his eye as he said the next few words, "and it killed me inside. It...killed...me."_  
_

Anya felt sympathy swell inside her chest, a familiar and comforting warmth that melted whatever anger she had felt, and she caved. Just as Killian could tell that she hadn't been lying when she'd said she was happy, Anya could tell that he was not lying about this. Every word was genuine, every emotion absolute. Suddenly, he was _her_ Killian again and nothing could change that.

"You must have escaped somehow..." Anya said softly. Killian swallowed and replied, "Finally Smee came and found me, told me what was happening on deck. He cut the ropes free and I...stopped it."

Anya furrowed her forehead in confusion. "What does that mean?" She had a feeling that she didn't want to know, but her curiosity was peaked and she some part of her, that dark seed that everyone possesses, wanted to hear what horrible atrocities might have befallen the man, or men, that had hurt her. "The men had been taken turns lashing you. When I found you, it was Sylt who was up. I ran him straight through with my sword. Once the rest of the men saw that their captain was on deck, they shied away, cowards that they are. In all honesty, if they had all rebelled, Smee and I wouldn't have been able to take them...but fear cuts deeper than swords, I suppose." Killian emitted a sigh that stood somewhere between defeated and hopeless, before continuing. "I tried to find out who engineered this...scheme...but no one will come forward or blame someone else. It seems my men have developed their own set of twisted morals at the exact _wrong_ time. I've implemented my own motivation system, however." A sly, awry smile spread across his face, one that _embodied _madness and made Anya fear what his next words might be. "Someone's bound to break very soon. I'm sure of that."

The young girl did not react to his words, only rubbed circles with her thumb on the back of his hand, not even noticing that he had held hers in the first place. She could worry about the psychological and physical welfare of her captors _after_ she had healed from her wounds, and there were many. In fact, by the time she fully recovered, it might be too late for them. The thought was disgusting and crooked, but it appealed to Anya in a small, twisted way. She would _not_ let herself succumb to that dark, contorted sense of justice, however. She may no longer be a nun or 'pure' in the traditional sense, but she neither tortured nor murdered.

Who was to say she couldn't love a man who did those things, though?

"Can we talk about something else? I find my conscious might not be able to bear it if you tell me what you're doing to them."

"Of course, love. I just wanted to say...I'm sorry for everything that's happened."

"Like you said, you had nothing to do with last night. You saved me, that means more to me than anything."

Killian shook his head and stood up, looking down at her on the bed. Carefully, he knelt beside her and began unwrapping the gauze that was wrapped tightly across her torso and chest. Anya did not mind that she was completely bare from waist up. "I'm not just talking about last night; I'm talking about it all. I'm sorry that I stole you away from your family. I'm sorry I forced you to live here with me." He said sincerely as he gestured for her to lay on her stomach. When she did so, he began rubbing a cream across her bruised and cut back that burnt as though it had been made in Hell itself. She winced unintentionally and he gave her a pitying look before continuing. "I...I relinquish you from your duties. You're not just a slave to me, Anya. You never were. And I'm so sorry that you think that. I'm so, so, so..." Killian winced when Anya muffled a cry of pain and surprise into her pillow; he had just rubbed the cream over her deepest and biggest gash of all. He was unsure whether or not this was hurting her or him more. "...Sorry." He finished softly, pulling her up into a sitting position and wrapping fresh gauze gingerly around her. Anya made a large effort not to wince or cry out in pain as he did.

When finally Killian was done with his torturous cures, he layed her gently on her back. Anya let out a relieved sigh before he kissed her on her forehead and made to leave. She grabbed his hand with her significantly smaller one and pulled, giving him a him a pathetic smile when he turned to look at her.

"I forgive you. I forgive it all." she whispered, tightening her grip on his hand. Then, with wide eyes brimmed with childlike longing and a hint of mocking playfulness, she asked, "Stay with me?" Killian looked to his feet and back at her, chuckling lightly to himself before squeezing her hand lovingly. He walked to the other side of the bed, pulled of his boots and layed down next to her, stringing his hands through her hair. He was careful not to disturb the bed too much so that he would cause her no more pain than she was already forced to endure. It seemed she could sense his stiffness beside her, though, as she cleared her throat awkwardly and told him, "I won't shatter if you touch me, Killian."

Said pirate turned his head towards her with a falsely perplexed expression and responded, "I don't know what you're talking about, Anya." As if to exaggerate his words, he tapped her playfully on the nose. She giggled youthfully and turned on her side so that she could face him, just barely suppressing her wince at the pain it shot through her body.

"If you want to make me feel better, just hold me. Hold me and never let me go."

Killian smiled at her as she said this, his chest swelling with something suspiciously similar to what he had felt so many years ago with his sister. He layed a tender kiss on her lips, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her to him. For a long while, they laid there like that, Killian holding her to his chest and kissing her, relishing the silence. Their minds were clouding as day turned to evening and evening into night, lying there all the while. Sleep was descending upon both of them, pulling their eyes closed and slowing their breathing.

In his last sacred moments of consciousness before he finally succumbed to his fatigue, Killian heard Anya whisper into his chest, "I'm happy."

And for the first time in a long time, Killian was too.


End file.
